Measure of a Man
by Eleutherya
Summary: Avengers AU: What would have happened if Loki had made a different choice in the Battle of New York? And what would the Avengers do if they learned the truth about the God of Mischief's villainy?
1. A Different Choice

"LOOK AT THIS!" Thor screamed.

His voice was enough to shock Loki out of his berserker rage, like a slap in the face.

The anger, the fear, the resolve he had clung to so desperately these long, long months suddenly vanished. He felt directionless, lost . . . confused. What was happening? The voices in his head were screaming for him to ignore Thor, to fight back, to hold to his purpose . . .

But what was his purpose?

Loki felt his eyes, wide with confusion, drift away from the angry gaze of the god in front of him and lock on the chaos and destruction all around them. The air was filled with screams, smoke and gunfire from the mortals all swirling together.

He didn't feel pride in that moment. He didn't feel the satisfaction the voices were telling him he would feel.

He felt . . . horror.

_Jotunheim all over again . . ._

It was like waking from one nightmare into another.

"Look around you!" the Thunderer bellowed again. "You think this madness will end with your rule?!"

"It's too late!" he felt himself reply, noticing how his voice shook. _Don't let him see_, a voice thought desperately, _don't let him see you waver_. "It's too late to stop it!"

And he knew it was. Whatever damage he had done with the Tesseract was now irreparable.

_I wanted to rule. I wanted to have a place to belong. But not like this . . . This . . . this is not worth it. This isn't what I wanted . . ._

"No. We _can_. _Together_."

Thor's voice was gentle, encouraging. Loki looked back at the Asgardian with . . . hope? **_No, not hope_**, another voice whispered. **_He's going to betray you, just like he did on the Bifrost . . ._**

_But I don't want this anymore . . ._

**_You can't trust him!_**

_But I don't – want – to do this!_

**_You never had a choice! You know what will happen if you betray me . . ._**

"I . . . I can't, Thor," he said helplessly. His grip on the scepter was getting weaker, no longer fighting.

**_Don't let your guard down! He will kill you given half a chance!_**

"You MUST." Thor was easing his grip on Loki's throat, Mjolnir slowly lowering from his face.

"You don't understand," Loki said, having difficulty getting the words out. "You don't know . . . what you're asking me to do – "

"I am asking you to help save an innocent realm – to redeem yourself!"

"It's not that simple!" Loki howled. Did Thor have any idea who he was asking him to turn against? Did Thor know what HE would do to him – what he'd _already_ done to him?

Loki did not want to go through with this . . . but he did not want to die a slow and painful death . . .

"Brother," Thor's hand was behind his neck now, forcing his gaze back to his.

Something recoiled inside him when he said that title. Loki wanted to rail and scream, deny he had any kinship with him since he abandoned him on the Bifrost. The words were nearly on his lips when he heard Thor's voice again.

"You have a chance to make this right – to prove yourself! You must help bring this war to an end!"

Prove himself . . .

Hadn't that been what this endeavor was all about? Proving himself a worthy ruler, a worthy being? Hadn't that been what Jotunheim was all about? But that had been a disaster, a scheme that had quickly spiraled out of his control; and now this . . .

Maybe, proving himself worthy could not come with war . . .

Thor was offering him a chance, a way out.

Loki was only barely aware of the way Thor had stepped away from him, watching him, giving him time to think.

**_Attack now! With the Thunderer dead your victory is assured! You will win the Earth, you will win me the Tesseract – _**

_But I can't do this . . ._

**_You have no choice!_**

That hateful voice stabbed at his mind, he could feel his resolve slipping, his awareness faltering –

"Loki?" Thor was worried. The Trickster could see him wavering in and out of focus as he wrestled with a consciousness not his own.

_I don't want this . . ._

**_Your will is nothing! Your will is mine!_**

He wanted to shut that voice up. To silence it forever. He knew it would hurt. But he didn't care.

He wanted to be free.

"The Scepter."

Thor looked at him, confused.

"The Scepter . . . it draws its powers from the Tesseract itself," Loki explained, dragging every word out as long as he could, in spite of the chaos around them. If he was to betray his master, he wanted to drag out the inevitable as long as possible. "It could be used to close the portal . . . stop the invasion."

"How?" Thor demanded, glancing aside at the scepter that lay slack in Loki's hands. Loki shook his head.

"I don't know," he admitted, fighting against an unseen force that was determined to shut his mouth, silence his voice . . . "Your mortal friend, Dr. Selvig, was devising a means to close the portal . . . a power cut-off, if you will . . ."

"You knew this? And you did nothing?" Thor seemed amazed.

Loki did not want to admit his misgivings about this invasion, not here, not in the open. Yes, he had known, but he had not stopped him. He thought that maybe it would be useful, if Thanos ever turned on him . . .

The pain was beginning, as he knew it would: a hard knot in his stomach that was quickly spreading outward.

They heard hurried footsteps behind them. Thor turned, but Loki could already see Agent Romanoff sprinting over the balcony towards them. She pulled up short when she saw the Trickster, disarmed with his back to the glass railing behind him.

Her hand strayed to her gun belt –

"Friend Romanoff, take your hand from your weapon," Thor warned. "My brother is not here to fight. Not any longer."

"Yeah? What do you call this then?" she demanded, gesturing out over the balcony at the Chitauri army still wreaking havoc on the streets of New York.

"You're wasting time!" Loki bit out. The pain was still slowly growing, and he was in no mood to fight with both Thor and the Black Widow. "Take the Scepter. It will-"

"Close the portal?" Romanoff cut him off. "Yeah, Selvig already told me. Set it down and push it over here. Slowly."

It amused Loki slightly that this mortal was still more concerned about him than about the army that was about to obliterate her word. Without another word, Loki dropped the weapon at his feet and shoved it over the concrete with his foot. Romanoff scooped it up and immediately turned and raced back for the flight of steps leading up to the roof.

Thor was watching him, like he wanted to say something. But Loki avoided his gaze, choosing to instead look over the destruction his would-be invasion was raining down on the city.

_I did this . . . I chose this . . . it didn't have to end this way . . ._

Overhead the Chitauri army was still coming, flooding out of the black hole in reality like a swarm of locusts, determined to decimate anything that lay in there path. He had been their leader. He had brought them here. The thought sickened him.

_A true monster . . . just like Romanoff said . . . _

Suddenly the stream of blue energy sputtered, then collapsed altogether as Agent Romanoff succeeded in closing the portal. The Leviathans that were only half through roared in agony, their huge bodies torn apart as reality righted itself again. The screams of rage from the foot soldiers below echoed up to them.

Loki looked back at Thor. He was smiling at him.

"Rest easy, brother. It's over."

"No," Loki murmured. "It's only just begun."

Thor once again had that ridiculously-bewildered look on his face.

"Loki-"

An explosion threw both of them off their feet. Loki flung himself to the side just as a group of Chitauri chariots roared overhead. Thor had avoided the blast easily, sidestepping and flinging Mjolnir towards the enemy. Two or three chariots were blown from the sky, but it was not enough to discourage them. Like a swarm of ants, the foot soldiers began crawling up the sides of the Tower.

Without warning Loki felt an insistent pull in his stomach, the same nauseating tug that always came with a black voice. At other times he would have been frightened, wary . . . but this time he welcomed it. He wanted one last chance to spit in his handler's face.

_"What is this, little Princeling?" _the hiss came, so close to his ear Loki swore the speaker was directly behind him. _"Can it be possible you have turned against your master?"_

"I am no one's slave," Loki bit out. He was dimly aware that he was kneeling, clutching his stomach, Thor looking on in concern.

He could practically feel the Other's fetid breath wash over his face; it made him sick.

_"You seemed perfectly content with serving our ends when a world lay at your feet."_

"I am not your lapdog, to be toyed with like a common criminal!"

_"We had a bargain, Asgardian,"_ the Other growled.

"And I am disavowing it," Loki spat back. "Find another way to lay claim to your toy, if you can. I'll have no further part in it."

There was a moment of silence in Loki's mind. In spite of his best efforts he felt a shiver of apprehension trace its way down his spine. The Other was angry . . .

_"You are a fool, little Princeling."_ The sweet words held venom beneath. _"Did you not take my warning seriously? Did I not say what was to come if you should betray us? You think you know pain? You think you have known suffering at our hands? We shall make certain that when we are through with you, you will curse the day you were _born!_"_

Suddenly blinding pain erupted from within, the burning searing his blood, his bones. His head felt as if it was being split open, his limbs ripped from his body, knives plunging into his stomach, over and over and over –

_That Norns-cursed geas . . ._

"Loki!" He dimly saw Thor kneel beside him, desperately asking him what was wrong.

Loki could barely take in enough air just to stay conscious, let alone communicate. He was slowly being smothered, each breath harder than the last. But the worst was the burning. The fire in his veins was almost unbearable, scorching every nerve ending in his body until the slightest movement caused him agony.

_"If that geas we placed on you does not kill you,"_ he heard the Other hiss, as if his hand was the one plunging the knife into his stomach, _"then your faithful followers will!"_

"Go – to – Hel!" he managed.

"Loki! What's wrong?" Thor demanded, shaking Loki out of his trance. The movement caused excruciating pain in his stomach, and he felt Thor's hands snap back when he heard Loki cry out.

"Get away!" Loki gritted out, struggling to a half-kneeling position. "-Chitauri – are coming. Stop them -!"

No sooner had he spoken that, with a howl of rage, a score of Chitauri warriors threw themselves over the edge of the balcony. The air around them was suddenly a hail-fire of explosions and energy blasts. It seemed as if the entire alien army was swarming the Tower. Thor was desperately fending off their attackers, sending soldiers flailing back down to the streets of New York far below. Overhead there was the sound of gunshots as Agent Romanoff came under fire. A group of the blood-thirsty warriors sprang in front of Loki's path, hissing in their own foul tongue.

Loki grinned through the pain. Outnumbered, weaponless, and crippled – but he still had his magic.

A flash of green fire ripped through the soldiers in front of him, shattering armor and limbs alike. Dark purple blood splattered against the glass and concrete of the Tower.

No sooner had Loki disposed of his enemies when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw yet another foot soldier approach the God of Thunder, unnoticed, from behind. It raised its weapon –

Loki moved without even thinking. Ignoring the flaming pain in his limbs – and not knowing exactly why he was doing it – he flung himself between Thor and his attacker.

The bolt of energy from the weapon slammed into Loki's side, shattering his armor and flinging him bodily across the balcony. He grappled desperately until he caught hold of the iron railing and stopped his dangerous slide toward oblivion. He tried to ignore the bloody streak left behind on the concrete, marking his fall.

Rough hands jerked him away from the edge, pulling him towards safety. Biting his lip to prevent a scream of agony, he managed to stumble to his feet and push his rescuer away from him.

He wished the blow had been harder. If he was unconscious he couldn't feel all of this pain . . .

"Banner, _no!_"

Loki barely registered Thor's desperate scream before a huge green blur slammed into him with a roar of rage. Glass shattered behind his back as he was flung into the stone wall inside the tower. A sickening crack spoke of broken bones, the force snapping Loki's head back to slam into the crumbling remnants of crushed stone and steel.

He tasted blood in his mouth, his lungs feeling as if they'd been crushed in his chest. Through a dizzying haze, the Trickster saw the massive form of the Hulk stalk nearer, then stop, as if confused.

He never felt the next blow fall –

And suddenly there was no more pain.

* * *

_Author's Note__: This was an idea that came to me yesterday afternoon, and it was so intriguing that I thought I'd give it a whirl. This is my first attempt at writing AU fan fiction, so please bear with me. Anyways, what did you guys think? Should it continue? Please please leave reviews for me with your thoughts! I love reading what you all have to say!_


	2. Morality or Justice?

_Chapter 2 – Morality or Justice_

"Seriously, guys, when are we finally gonna get some Shawarma?"

Captain Rogers shot Tony Stark an annoyed look as the billionaire-turned-hero sat lounging in one of the bridge chairs. His constant whining was starting to get on everyone's nerves; Steve was the only one who had the patience to continue shutting the man up.

"For the last time, Stark, knock it off," he growled.

"What, don't you think we've earned a break?" the other returned, his gesture encompassing the entire room: the ruined bridge of the Helicarrier, the battered SHIELD agents manning smoking consoles, and each of the battle-worn Avengers – "At the very least, _this_ ol' boy's eared a drink," – here tapping his own scorched and battered Iron Man suit.

"We're not finished yet, Tony," Steve reminded him darkly. Everyone's eyes turned from the confrontation to the small screens projected onto the glass table in front of each of them.

The image on the screens was that of a medical bay – blank white walls, bright lights, and an exorbitant amount of medical equipment. There were only two occupants visible; one was a man dressed in khaki slacks and a navy blue shirt, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose in an almost absent-minded manner. The other was a figure stretched out on the hospital bed, unmoving and eyes closed. A simple white sheet was pulled up to his shoulders, the right arm lying slack at his side with an IV inserted under the pale skin. IV tubing and monitors were hooked to various apparatuses, their combined soft noises filtering over the console speakers. It looked reminiscent of an intensive care unit at NYU Medical Center – the only difference being that the patient was an Asgardian supervillain.

When the portal had closed, the Battle of New York had taken a surprising turn of events. Where before the Chitauri soldiers were running rampant through the city intent both on destroying the Avengers and causing as much destruction as possible, in an instant all focus turned to Stark Tower. The rest of the team had watched in bewildered amazement as every single enemy soldier in sight began either flying towards the massive building or crawling up its sides to reach the high balcony. Not knowing exactly what happened, Rogers had made what seemed to be the most logical conclusion at the time – the Chitauri must have been targeting Natasha Romanoff. Captain America made the call and the whole Avengers team was called to assemble at Stark Tower to defend Black Widow's position.

But it soon became clear that, although Romanoff had succeeded in closing the portal, the Chitauri were not interested in her whatsoever. The target had been instead the very person the Avengers had been fighting to defeat – Loki.

Stark had arrived to see Loki blast a group of Chitauri foot soldiers to pureed gravy. He had to admit at the time that he was impressed – the guy was more than just a bag full of tricks and pompous speeches. Then, only seconds later, he saw the unbelievable –

Loki throwing himself into the line of fire to save Thor's life.

Almost before that had registered Banner, fully Hulked out and raging mad, slammed into Loki with the force of a 747, throwing them both inside what was left of Tony's precious Tower. The Chitauri immediately changed tactics, ignoring Stark and Romanoff and Thor and even Cap (once he had made his appearance) and diving straight into the building. It seemed as if – for reasons that he didn't know at the time – the Chitauri were totally focused on stamping Loki out of existence.

It took at least another hour of intense combat before the guns stopped firing, the shield and hammer stopped flying, and the last of their enemies were finished.

Then Thor emerged from the wreckage, clutching the limp form of the God of Mischief in his arms.

Fury had quickly recalled the Avengers back to the Helicarrier and, when he heard that Enemy Number One was still alive and breathing, ordered Loki be placed in a maximum security medical bay. Barton had insisted that they should just throw him into a cell and leave him to his fate, but Thor had protested so violently that the SHIELD bridge crew detected a thunderstorm building up on the horizon. To compensate for risking placing his prisoner in the infirmary, Fury told Banner to get in there and patch Loki up as best as he could – not out of kindness, but out of necessity. Banner had protested, saying he wasn't a real doctor.

"Screw technicalities," Fury had sneered. "If Loki tries anything, you'll be the only person that will be able to put him in his place." Banner grumbled a bit more before departing for the infirmary.

That had been three hours ago.

"I still don't see why we're bothering with all of this," Agent Barton muttered under his breath. His eyes were fixed on the monitors with a very ugly look. Vivid images of his mind-controlled servitude to Loki were at the forefront of his thoughts.

"One very good reason is that Big Brother over here will tear the Helicarrier apart piece by piece if we don't," Tony replied, thumbing at the God of Thunder behind him. "And the other is that we still want him to stand trial for all of this. Guy can't do that if he's six feet under."

"That and the fact that Banner subconsciously feels guilty for landing Loki like this in the first place," Steve put in. He wasn't feeling particularly sorry for Loki in that moment – not really. But he felt a twinge of irritation because the god's condition meant the resolution to this whole mess would take that much longer.

"What I don't get is why the Chitauri decided to turn on him like that," Natasha admitted thoughtfully. "As soon as the portal closed, it's like they abandoned their attacks just to get at Loki. Why would they do that?"

"Maybe they were getting just as sick of him as we were," Tony muttered.

"Or perhaps there was more transpiring than any of us knew," Thor said. "During my speech with him, Loki began behaving . . . strangely."

"A psycho acting like a psycho. Yeah, _that's_ unusual," Clint growled, arms folded across his chest.

"Have care of your words, Barton," Thor rumbled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Even now, I will not have you slander my brother. Is it not considered an act of cowardice to attack a wounded man – even with words?"

"_That_ – " Clint spat, pointing emphatically to the unmoving body on the screen, "-is _NOT_ a man. That's nothing more than a rabid dog! I should know; I spent the last couple of days inside his head. There's nothing there worth saving!"

Thor looked ready to hammer Clint's face into the back of his skull when Steve jumped to his feet.

"That's enough! Arguing like this isn't going to solve anything. Barton, sit down and keep quiet before you start a diplomatic incident."

Clint was not a man who enjoyed being told when to shut his mouth, even by his superiors. He looked like he would protest, remaining stiff and tense, his hands clenched into fists at his side. But after a moment or two of hard staring, he finally flung himself into one of the nearby chairs and contented himself with watching the screen in front of him with calculating eyes.

Tony leaned towards the speaker on his console.

"Bruce, how's it going?"

Dr. Banner turned from the monitors to face the camera.

"He's stable, for now. I've managed to apply a temporary brace to his spine, splinted his leg, repaired whatever internal damage I could, and got him under heavy sedation. The dose I gave him was enough to drop an elephant, so he should stay down for a while."

Clint snorted sarcastically, glaring daggers at the fallen god.

"I still say we should have armed guards in the room. Maybe even strap him down."

"Oh, give the man a break, Clint," Bruce replied, mildly reproving. "He's got a fracture-dislocation to his lumbar spine, a broken left femur, a severe concussion, his left lung is practically crushed, there's massive internal damage to his abdominal cavity, and he has so many lacerations that he looks like he's been through a meat grinder. He's not going anywhere."

"How soon can we begin interrogations, Banner?" Fury demanded.

Bruce visibly winced at the word "interrogation." He shrugged.

"Hard to say. Honestly, it's a miracle he's survived as long as he has. If his healing abilities are as good as Thor says they are, hopefully he should be able to start talking in a few days. Until then, we're just going to have to wait."

"Why would you need to interrogate him, Fury?" Tony asked, puzzled. "I mean, the war's over. We beat them. Rock of Ages can't possibly be of any use to us anymore . . . except maybe as target practice . . ."

"We didn't _beat_ them, Stark," Fury answered, glaring at Tony's smug expression with his good eye. "We won by default. The Chitauri fleet isn't gone; they're just trapped on the other side of that portal. It won't take them long to find a way around that . . . or use the Tesseract again for the same purpose. Loki could be holding vital information on how to prepare for the next inevitable invasion. And if there's anything SHIELD is interested in, it's information."

"Yeah, well don't count on being able to extract anything useful out of him for a while, Fury," Bruce spoke up from the speakers. "As long as he's in this medical bay he's under my supervision. You don't get any face time until I'm sure he can withstand your particular brand of hospitality."

"Aw, getting soft in your old age, Bruce?" Tony smirked. "I didn't think you cared about deranged villains so much."

"It's not that," the doctor said softly. The others could see him look away from the camera for a brief moment. "When I settled down in Calcutta, I made a decision to try and help other people around me. I don't have an official medical degree per say, but I know enough to be able to do the basic stuff. And when I made that decision, I came under the same moral obligation that other medical practitioners have: to relieve suffering . . . even if the person may not necessarily deserve it. I don't like the idea of helping somebody like Loki . . . but I don't think I could ever have another peaceful night sleep if I stood by and did nothing."

There was an almost uncomfortable pause, during which even Barton started to look a little guilty. But the mood was shattered when Tony started applauding.

"Wow, great speech, Dr. Banner. If you don't make out as a physics genius or a medical guru, you'd make a great motivational speaker."

"Tony, again, _is everything a joke to you?_" Steve demanded, rolling his eyes. The older man only smirked.

"Come on, Cap, you know you were thinking the same thing," Tony winked cheekily.

"Ok, seriously, Stark, now you're just wasting my time," Fury cut him off, standing up. "Until Loki regains consciousness, there's nothing we can do except wait. Call it a day, Avengers." Here there was the ghost of a smile on his face. "I'd say you've earned it."

"Oh, _yes_, finally! Shawarma time!" Tony jumped up, rubbing – or trying to rub – his metal-gauntleted hands. He cocked an eyebrow at Steve, silently inviting him to join him. Steve sighed; as much as Tony was getting on his nerves, food sounded really good after all that fighting. He nodded his acceptance and fell in step behind Iron Man as he clanked off the bridge – who took just a second or two to flirt with one of the passing female SHIELD agents.

"I sure could use a hot shower," Natasha admitted quietly. She was just about to ask Clint what he planned to do with the rest of his evening when he suddenly sprang to his feet and stormed out of the room; clearly he was still incensed with the thought of sharing the same Helicarrier with a hated enemy. Natasha guessed that he was heading to the gym – to work off some of his frustration.

"Banner, I want you to stay in the infirmary for now, on the off chance that Loki wakes up," Fury ordered to the figure still waiting on the other side of the screen. "I'll have chow sent to you there, if you want it."

Bruce's warm chuckle was clearly audible.

"If there's anything that works up an appetite for me, it's letting the Other Guy have fun. Dinner sounds good."

"Thor, we have a room set up for you here on the Helicarrier," Fury continued, turning to face the towering Asgardian Prince next to him. "Agent Romanoff will be more than happy to escort you."

"Thank you, Director . . . but I would wish to pay Loki a visit first," the Thunderer admitted.

"Thor, he's not going to wake up anytime soon," Natasha reminded him gently. Villain or not, Loki was still his brother, and she understood his protective concern – even if she didn't quite agree with it.

"I know this. I would still wish to remain with him, if that is agreeable to Dr. Banner, of course."

Bruce nodded encouragingly.

"Sounds good to me. I could use the company; I have a feeling I'm going to be spending an awful lot of time here for the foreseeable future."

Thor gave one small nod before quietly turning and leaving the bridge. Natasha's eyes followed him until he passed through the automatic doors, then got to her feet to head to her own quarters.

This was going to be an interesting couple of days, to say the least.

* * *

_Author's Note:__ Wow! Thank you SO much everybody for all the reviews and favorites/follows! I was seriously shocked when I saw how many of you guys loved this story...pleasantly shocked, but still shocked. Lol! And I'm a bit nervous now, because I want this story to live up to your expectations. Please continue to bear with me as this story develops. And please please PLEASE keep those reviews coming! They really brighten my day. :D_


	3. My Brother's Keeper

_Chapter 3 – My Brother's Keeper_

The Infirmary could really get on someone's nerves very quickly, Bruce decided.

Of course, he had never given it any serious consideration before this. While he didn't necessarily enjoy such environments himself, it was one of those areas he didn't feel hunted and out of place; hospitals were places he felt he could actually be of use to people, places where the general population got a chance to see Dr. Bruce Banner – scientist and casual medical practitioner – instead of monster and menace to society.

Maybe it had to do with his own hospital experience shortly after his unfortunate "accident" all those years ago. The kindness he received from the staff – the nurses, the doctors, the techs, and everyone in between – had stayed with him, even after the Other Guy made his appearance and forced him to live as an outcast. He had always felt grateful to those people, and ever since then he had strived to provide that same sense of compassion and understanding for every patient he had.

Even if said patient had only hours before been trying to destroy the world as he knew it.

Yes, he felt useful in this environment.

But to someone who was not used to it, he knew it could be a frightening, uncomfortable place.

Loki had not moved for hours now – the IV sedatives he received seemed to be doing their job fairly well. The monitors continued in their repetitive, monotonous voices, occasionally making a faint alarming sound that made Bruce get up from his chair and check the equipment. The bare white walls combined with the harsh lighting made the room feel claustrophobic and oppressive. The only thing that kept it remotely bearable or interesting was the only other conscious occupant in the room.

Thor had arrived an hour or two beforehand, after the impromptu meeting with Nick Fury. The Asgardian prince-turned-hero had only nodded his head in greeting, said a few words asking after his brother's health, and then sat down in a chair by Loki's bedside. He had seemed a bit . . . disturbed by all the equipment in the room, as if their use and purpose surpassed his understanding. He eyed the monitors warily, and even grimaced when he saw the IV Bruce had inserted into the pale arm that now lay unmoving on the bed. But he hadn't protested, hadn't objected to their use or demanded that Loki be removed from such – in his mind, Bruce was sure – archaic technology. He simply sat there, watching his brother's face with a pensive, almost brooding expression.

Bruce had tried to engage him in conversation at first, to take his mind off of what was happening to Loki. Clearly, seeing his brother in this kind of condition was distressing to the God of Thunder, and Bruce wanted to make him feel more at ease. But after several miserably failed attempts he gave up, turning instead to the Xrays and labs he had taken earlier that afternoon.

This was the first time Bruce had had the opportunity of studying Asgardian physiology first-hand, and it was certainly intriguing. After a time Bruce forgot that these were scans from an actual patient and started seeing them as almost textbook examples. The similarities in Loki's structure to an ordinary human's was striking . . . but as time went on Bruce noticed that there was something nagging at the back of his mind . . . something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

After another hour or so, a SHIELD agent arrived with two dinner trays. Bruce sat down immediately to eat, but Thor never rose from his place, completely ignoring food and company alike.

Finally, Bruce decided it was time to break the silence.

"Penny for your thoughts, Thor," he said quietly.

Thor, after a long pause, shook himself slightly and turned to him with a puzzled expression.

"Why would you wish to give me mortal money?" he queried.

Bruce couldn't help but smile; big and impressive he may have been, but sometimes talking to Thor was like talking to a small child – he had to explain himself in very simple terms.

"It's an expression. It means I'd love to know what you're thinking. You've been . . . really quiet ever since you got here."

Thor's eyes had cleared for a moment when he realized Bruce's joke, and he thought he saw the ghost of a smile on the blonde god's face. It was the first time he had seen the Thor smile since before the war began. But as soon as he looked back at his brother any trace of happiness faded. He sighed heavily.

"Forgive me if I seem . . . preoccupied, Dr. Banner. I simply find it . . . unsettling to see my brother in this condition."

"This isn't the first time you've seen him get hurt, right?" Bruce asked, curious.

"No, no of course not," Thor shook his head. "Before his fall, Loki and I had fought side-by-side in many wars throughout our lives. He has always been a formidable opponent – both physically and in matters of the mind."

"Yeah, we noticed," Bruce muttered under his breath.

"Most of my people on Asgard regarded my brother as weak, never as a true warrior. But he has survived and endured much since we were children. To see him reduced to this – " here Thor gestured to Loki's still form. "I am no coward, Dr. Banner, but seeing him lying here is . . ." He paused, unable to find the right words.

"Frightening?" Bruce offered.

There was a brief look of indignation in Thor's eyes, but that façade very quickly crumbled away.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I am frightened."

"Well, that's understandable," Bruce replied gently. "I mean, he's your brother – I get that. No matter how bad your brother gets you still love him. It's always scary to see a family member get hurt."

"But I am . . . frightened," (he stumbled over the word as if it wasn't part of his normal vocabulary) "because it is partially my fault he is in the condition he is now."

"No, it's not –"

"Banner, I appreciate your confidence, but it _is_," Thor insisted. "I am Loki's brother, and no matter what he has done, no matter what path he has chosen to take in life, it is my duty as his brother to protect him from harm. If I had been more vigilant in watching over him during the battle this would not have happened."

"Thor, I'm just as equally guilty. I was the one who threw him into the wall. The Other Guy snapped his spine and then used him like a football after a touchdown."

That confused look came back.

"What is a football . . .?"

Bruce chuckled.

"Forget it. The point is that you shouldn't take on blame that isn't yours. You made your choices, and Loki made his. It's not your fault that your brother has to suffer for his poor choices in life. That's not something you can control."

"It is . . . difficult, Banner . . . for me to relinquish control. Especially when I will still feel responsible."

"I know. But sometimes, you just have to let people suffer the consequences. If you don't, you could be doing them a disservice – Loki can't change if he never has to pay for what he's done."

Thor looked thoughtful at this and became very quiet. Bruce worried that maybe he offended Thor in some way; after all, what might be acceptable on Earth might not be universal practice. He still stood by what he said . . . but maybe he could have phrased it a bit more tactfully.

His concerns were instantly relieved when Thor looked up again calmly.

"I shall . . . try to do so, doctor."

Bruce smiled, then decided to change the subject a little.

"Thor . . . there's something I've been wanting to ask you; it's something you said earlier this afternoon. You said that when you were talking to Loki, something happened."

Thor took a deep breath and nodded, shaking away his own misgivings.

"Yes. When I asked him to help us win the battle, to undo all the damage his foolishness caused, he began behaving . . . very odd."

"Odd for normal people, or odd for Loki?" Bruce asked. He couldn't cover up the faint note of sarcasm in his voice. Thor gave him a slightly annoyed expression.

"Odd by any standards, Banner. There was a moment, after he told me of the Tesseract's weakness, where he seemed . . . very distant. And it was as if he was carrying on a one-sided conversation with one I could not see."

Bruce leaned back in his chair, dinner long forgotten now, and considered what the Thunderer was describing. After a moment or two an idea had formed in his mind.

"Well, most military leaders need to be in contact with their allies in war. Maybe that was simply him talking to the Chitauri."

"It did not seem as if he was on friendly terms with his allies in that moment," Thor replied darkly. "Loki spoke in a manner very similar to the way he sometimes spoke to our father when they had a grievance against each other." He paused, now looking very concerned. "And then only a moment later my brother doubled over in pain. He would not even let me touch him after that."

That nagging feeling at the back of Bruce's mind got stronger when Thor said that. He was no expert on extraterrestrial life forms by any stretch of the word, but even Bruce recognized that what Thor was describing was very strange. If Loki was turning on the Chitauri, then it only made sense that the Chitauri would, in turn, turn on _him_. It also made sense that there was some kind of communication system in place between Loki and the Chitauri leader – whoever that was; some kind of telepathic link, maybe? But the fact that Loki should have experienced physical pain during that conversation . . . didn't make sense to him. Maybe it was merely psychological, all in Loki's very messed up head.

Or maybe Loki was only faking it, playing on his big brother's sympathy.

With Loki one could never be sure.

Bruce looked down at the charts and scans lying on the table next to him. Yes, it was a very real possibility that whatever Thor had seen had just been an act. But why did he feel as if there was a connection to Thor's story and Loki's injuries? Loki was no lightweight; the Other Guy had duked it out with Thor once, and it left the green menace feeling very wary of the God of Thunder. So for Loki to have not only held his own against Thor but even gained the upper hand at one point was amazing.

And yet here he was, a broken shadow of the snide, overconfident God of Mischief lying on a hospital bed looking like he'd just barely survived WWIII.

Something wasn't right.

"Thor, are you . . . never going t- to shut up?"

Bruce felt as if he'd been electrocuted.

That voice was definitely not Thor's . . .

Thor leaned forward eagerly.

"Brother? Are you awake?"

"How else . . . would I be talking?" the sleepy voice replied sarcastically.

"That's impossible," Bruce muttered, adrenaline now racing through his body. He was hard-pressed to keep his heart rate down. "That was a quadruple dose I gave him; he shouldn't be waking up for several more hours."

He watched in amazement – and growing tension – as Loki's eyes slowly fluttered open; his movements looked sluggish and difficult, as if he was forcing himself to wake up. The monitors registered the change immediately, the slow, steady, monotonous tone quickly picking up speed as Loki's heart rate increased. He shifted weakly in the bed as his eyes lazily gazed around the room for a moment or two.

Then those green eyes gained focus and locked directly on Bruce.

Loki looked puzzled for a second . . .

And then all hell broke loose.

* * *

_Author's Note__: Thanks so much to everyone who left reviews so far! I am so excited that you all really like this story! I don't think that anything I've written so far has gotten a response like this. So what did you guys think of this chapter? Any theories as to what you think is going on here? Just to warn you all, updates may be a little less frequent for a while; work is getting absolutely NUTS! But I will strive to crank these out as fast as the ideas come. Please please PLEASE review! :D_


	4. Panic Attack

_Chapter 4 – Panic Attack_

The security cameras on the Helicarrier were state-of-the-art: the fastest and most detailed cameras in existence. But in the ensuing incident, even those high-tech lenses had trouble following what happened.

There was a brief moment – 9.87 seconds, to be precise (and cameras always were) – where the invalid seemed to regain consciousness. The God of Mischief's eyes slowly opened, and the dark head slowly turned to his right where Dr. Banner stood motionless. Another 3.6 seconds passed, in which no one in that room moved at all.

But then the camera picked up a change, subtle at first, where the invalid's eyes shifted to a poisonous green –

It was a shame there had been no audio recording.

Loki's face suddenly contorted into what could only be described as agony: eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, back arching off of the bed. 0.83 seconds later and the invalid suddenly began struggling, as if he was attempting get up and escape. But though he managed to lever himself up half-way, it soon became clear that his still-damaged spine was preventing him from moving his legs. This only seemed to agitate him further, and agony and confusion quickly exploded into full-on panic.

The lack of audio recording only made the ensuing scream of terror that much more obvious.

Thor could be seen standing up beside the bed now, hands on Loki's shoulders, trying desperately to calm his brother. Far from pacifying him, it only intensified Loki's hysteria and he began fighting harder. Dr. Banner took a few steps forward, as if to assess the situation, his own mouth moving frantically in what one could only suppose was an admonition for the patient to calm down.

The very next moment Loki had seized Thor's right arm in both of his hands and flung him to the left side of the camera's view, fully across the room to slam against Dr. Banner. The two collapsed in a heap on the steel decking, nearly denting the wall.

Free from restraint, Loki began tearing at his arms, ripping out the IV line and pulling monitors and medical equipment from his chest. Again, he tried to move, to drag himself off of the bed towards the Infirmary doors, but again his dead-weight legs prevented any attempts of escape. His mouth opened again in another scream of horror, and not even the camera could discern what it was he was trying to say. A flash of green light suddenly lashed out at the two figures disentangling themselves from each other, and Thor was again slammed to the floor.

However hard the Thunderer may have been hit, he was instantly on his feet again, dodging yet another blast of energy from the God of Mischief until he caught Loki's wrists, one in each hand, trying to restrain him from harming either himself or anyone else in the room.

Banner was still struggling to his hands and knees as Thor and Loki wrestled desperately with each other, the dark-haired god screaming incoherently the entire time.

Bright green light flashed again –

The camera screen went black, cutting off at 11.87 seconds since the incident began.

* * *

The alarms of medical equipment were now joined by a wailing siren that could be heard even inside the Infirmary, followed by a voice projected through some unknown source:

"_Code 13, Infirmary Room 2! All personnel, Code 13, Infirmary Room 2!_"

Thor didn't have time to wonder what the ethereal voice meant by that announcement, because Loki nearly bucked him off in that moment. Injured though he may have been, panic seemed to the younger god as strong as ever. Loki didn't even seem to notice Thor was trying to talk to him at all. Thor had never seen his brother this frightened before.

Then again, he had never seen Loki's eyes that vibrant a green ever before.

"Loki! Calm yourself! No one will harm you!" Thor bellowed, trying to keep Loki's arms pinned down at his sides. With amazing strength, Loki broke free and tried to shove him away from him again.

"_Get away from me! Don't touch me!_" he screamed, terror etched in every feature of his face.

"You will injure yourself if you continue to struggle, Loki! Lie still!"

"_No! Get away! GET AWAY!_"

The door to the Infirmary suddenly exploded inward and black, armor-clad soldiers rushed into the room. Clearly they thought that their presence would help subdue the injured man, but it did nothing more than increase his hysteria to a level near insanity.

"_No! No no STAY BACK!_" Loki shrieked, trying unsuccessfully to direct his magic at the SHIELD officers now swarming around the bed. "_Stay away, haven't you monsters done enough?!_"

"Someone sedate him!" someone shouted frantically.

"Do not harm him! Not unless you must!" Thor grunted hoarsely, struggling to keep Loki's shoulders down against the bed. He feared his brother would never walk again if he did not stop fighting; his healing abilities had not yet had a chance to begin working.

With a rush something _huge_ shoved its way through the crowd of soldiers, and before Loki had a chance to strike an enormous green hand clamped over his shoulders and pinned him down onto the bed. It was followed by a deafening roar that seemed to shake the room:

"**PUNY GOD STAY DOWN!**"

The massive figure of the Hulk glared down at Loki, one hand keeping him against the bed, the other keeping the SHIELD soldiers at bay.

Loki jumped as if the Hulk had physically struck him in the face. For one moment he stared wildly around the room . . . and then gradually Thor noticed a change, a shift in Loki's eyes. The poisonous green slowly faded, the color bleeding back into a gentle shade of sea-green – the same shade Loki had seen every day of his life back on Asgard.

His breathing slowed, his face relaxed into something more resembling wary confusion. Thor felt the tension leave his brother's arms as he lay back against the bed without any further struggle. He opened his mouth to say something but in that moment someone in a white coat darted forward and jabbed him in the shoulder with a needle.

Loki swatted at the figure, dislodging the syringe from his skin, but not before the attendant depressed the plunger and delivered what Thor could only suppose was some kind of medicine.

Whatever the mortals had given his brother before seemed to be catching up with Loki. And that last bit that he received finally made him fully relax. Within moments Loki's eyes had once again fluttered closed and his body went limp.

Thor breathed a sigh of relief.

"You all can clear out now," a voice said off to the side. Thor looked over to see that Dr. Banner had shrunk down to his usual size, adjusting the belt on his pants and pulling his jacket over his shoulders. "The two of us can take it from here."

One of the soldiers – Thor supposed it was the commander – nodded to the others and the black-clad men slowly filed out of the room, keeping wary eyes (and weapons) trained on the limp form of the God of Mischief. Thor did not truly relax until what was left of the door closed behind them.

Banner looked unhappily at the shredded article of clothing that lay by the wall.

"I really should bill SHIELD for all of the outfits I have to replace doing this kind of job," he muttered to himself.

"Thank you, Dr. Banner, for safely restraining my brother. I feared your comrades would have injured him to do the same thing."

"No charge," Bruce assured him, waving a hand dismissively. "Actually, it's the Other Guy you should be thanking. I don't think I could have stopped him from coming out; I'm just glad he didn't hurt anybody."

Thor slowly released Loki's arms, grimacing at the blood that was smeared over his hands. There was a small wound on his brother's arm where that device Dr. Banner had inserted under his skin had been. The doctor came forward in that moment and handed Thor one of the damp cloths he had been carrying. With the other one he began cleaning up Loki's arm.

"This guy sure knows how to mess up a doctor's good work," he muttered in a slightly amused voice. "What do you suppose that was all about?"

"I do not know. But whatever just took place clearly frightened him."

"I hadn't noticed," Banner answered dryly. "Only thing is that seemed totally out of character for Loki; I don't think I've ever seen him that scared before."

Thor was just tossing the towel he was holding onto the floor when the ruined door opened again.

"What in the HELL was that all about?!" Fury demanded, striding into the room with storm clouds in his eyes.

Immediately following him were Stark, Captain Rogers, and Agents Romanoff and Barton. Stark whistled in amazement, his expression looking rather amused.

"Wowzers. Sleeping Beauty wake up and have a fit? The way it sounded I expected half of the Helicarrier to be scrap metal."

"Thor and I would have had it handled if those goons of yours hadn't come in here, Fury. Was that your idea?" Bruce growled, his eyes just the slightest hue of green.

"They were following procedure, Dr. Banner," Fury snapped back, his one good eye flashing dangerously. "Loki's already responsible for the sorry state my ship is in now as well as the smoking wreckage that used to be called Downtown Manhattan. I'm not taking any chances with this guy."

"The presence of your soldiers only served to increase my brother's agitation," Thor broke in angrily. "If not for that intrusion Banner would have had a much easier time calming him."

"Quit it with the sympathy, Thor," Barton bit out. "That sad excuse for a living thing isn't worth anyone's sympathy, much less yours."

"Barton –!" Rogers didn't have time to finish his rebuke because within a second Thor found his hand clamped around the agent's throat.

"I have had enough of your insults, Agent Barton," Thor growled, his face inches from the human's own. "Loki was not trying to harm anyone – he was simply trying to _escape_. He was _terrified!_ If you say one more word about my brother having no worth, then by Odin I will shut your slanderous mouth forever!"

"Guys, that's enough! Thor, let Barton go. And Barton, keep your mouth shut, or Thor won't be your only problem!"

Rogers' hand clamped down on Thor's own, and reluctantly the Thunderer released his choke-hold on the agent's throat.

There was a moment or two of tense silence before Romanoff had the courage to speak up.

"So . . . what got him so worked up? Why should he be scared of any of us? He's been a prisoner before – this shouldn't have had that kind of reaction."

"I agree," Banner answered, inserting yet another needle under Loki's skin. "But there was something weird about how it went down. Thor, did you notice his eyes?"

"Indeed. They were not Loki's own."

" 'Not his own'? What the crap is that supposed to mean?" Stark snorted.

"Go back and look at the security camera footage and you'll see what we mean," Banner replied. "His eyes were this really creepy, bright green – none of us have ever seen them like that before, not even when he first got here. And what he was shouting at the guards? 'Haven't you monsters done enough?' Why would he say that? The guards hadn't touched him; it's almost as if they triggered some kind of memory in his mind."

"You sure it wasn't just because of the drugs you pumped him full of?" Rogers pointed out.

Banner straightened, a doubtful look on his face.

"Possibly . . . but I doubt that was the only cause. Ativan and Morphine don't make your eyes change color – even in doses as high as I was giving him."

"Make sure he _stays_ down this time," Fury said with a scowl. "I don't want to have to go through another god-like hissy-fit like this. And have him transferred to another room, top security. I want eyes on him at all times."

"Better yet, just throw him back into the detention area," Barton muttered under his breath. Banner broke in before Thor could get his hammer out.

"I can't treat him in a detention cell, Clint. I understand your anger toward Loki, I really do; he took over your mind, made you turn against your teammates. I get it. But even an enemy deserves the right to medical treatment. Weren't you once considered an enemy of SHIELD?"

Barton's jaw clamped shut, and he looked as if he was longing to put an arrow right through Banner's forehead. But Thor saw grudging acceptance in his eyes as well, as if he understood what the doctor was trying to say but did not yet wish to admit it.

"Next time Loki wakes up, Bruce, if looks like he's gonna freak out . . . just Hulk Out sooner. Demented or not, he seems to listen to the Big Guy."

Banner looked uncomfortable at this, but Fury interrupted before he could respond.

"You're wasting my time again, Stark," he warned darkly. "Dr. Banner, get Loki transferred into Room 4 and stabilize him there. And I want him strapped down next time, too."

"Oh come on, Nick! You saw what he did here," Stark interrupted, hand sweeping out to encompass the wrecked medical equipment and the Thor-sized dent in the wall. "Even banged up he still did all this. And you're forgetting this guy has glowy-magicky powers, too."

"Even if it won't stop him, it'll at least slow him down," Fury replied. "No, Banner, I don't want any arguments about patient's rights or any of that other crap. Loki is first and foremost a prisoner – and that's how he's going to be treated."

Banner looked no more pleased about this than Thor felt. But he also knew that the leader of SHIELD was right; even wounded Loki was still dangerous. As much as Thor wished it otherwise, his brother was indeed still a villain . . . he only wished that Loki would soon be on the path to redemption and be willing to amend his errors.

But no matter how hard Thor tried to forget it, the memory of Loki's poisoned eyes hovered at the front of his thoughts as the mortals moved Loki's bed into a neighboring room.

Why had his eyes looked like that?

* * *

_Author's Note__: I lied - this chapter came to me real quick, so you guys get an update much sooner than I had originally planned. Yay for fast-moving brains! So what did you guys think of this chapter? What do you think is going on/going to happen next? A big thanks to xXxStarrxXx for pointing out the detail about Loki's eyes in the last chapter. Force of habit: every other story I've written so far has Loki having vibrant green eyes . . . but obviously Tom Hiddelston doesn't have eyes like that. So that detail got used in an unexpected way (at least for me). Lol! Please please PLEASE continue to leave reviews for me! As always, I love reading what you all think of my stories! :D_


	5. More Questions

_Chapter 5 – More Questions_

Thor watched in silent helplessness as his brother was taken into another white room and attached once again to the same various Midgardian machines. This room was much the same as the one that had been damaged . . . except all along one wall was what looked like a long mirror, floor to ceiling. Thor felt his mood darken at the sight of it; he believed the mortals called this a one-way mirror – commonly used in interrogation of criminals.

He thought this was supposed to be a healing room, not a prison.

Thor turned back to the bed, watching as Dr. Banner shooed the guards and other healers out of the room before resuming his work.

With meticulous care, Banner reattached the needle under Loki's skin to the machine at the bedside, watching for a few moments to make certain it was working properly. Then, with a sigh, he turned his attention to the strange-looking device that Loki had torn from his body in his frenzied panic. After struggling with it for a moment, Banner looked up at the Thunderer.

"Can you give me a hand for a second, Thor?" he asked quietly.

Thor came forward eagerly, wishing to be of some use to his brother.

"I need you to help lift him, just a little. I need to get this thing adjusted properly and he's a little too heavy for me to manage."

"Certainly. If I may ask . . . what is that device for?"

"It's a back brace; it'll help stabilize his spine until he starts to heal. At least," he amended regretfully, "that's what it's supposed to do. But after all of that thrashing around I'm not sure how much good it'll do him now."

Thor placed his hands where instructed, one under Loki's shoulders and the other under his knees, and gently lifted up.

"Easy easy! Not too much," Banner admonished. "We don't want to cause any more trauma if we can help it." With skilled hands, he quickly adjusted the brace under Loki's lower back, straightening it out before nodding to Thor. "Alright, now set him back down – slowly! That's it."

Thor took a step back as the doctor reattached the straps around Loki's waist, gently tightening the buckles and testing their strength. He consulted one of his many healing instruments before he nodded in satisfaction.

"Ok, I think that'll do for now. There's no way to know how much damage there is until Loki wakes up and tells us. For now, we'll just have to wait."

There was an uncomfortable pause, and Banner looked down at something he held in his hands. He scowled at what looked to Thor to be pieces of leather. Banner's jaw clenched. After a few moments he shook his head and began tying the pieces of fabric securely to the bedframe.

The other end he strapped onto Loki's wrist.

Thor clamped a hand down on the doctor's, a wave of anger overcoming him.

"What are you doing?" he demanded harshly.

Banner sighed, looking Thor square in the eyes.

"Look, Thor, don't make this harder than it needs to be. I don't have a choice. Fury ordered me to have him tied down . . . so I have to tie him down."

"This is supposed to be a healing room, not a prison," he growled. "I will not have my brother tied to his own bed like a common criminal."

"Thor I'm sorry, but I don't have a choice. I don't want to do this, believe me. But there are cameras all over the place in here, and we both know that Fury is probably watching. If I don't strap Loki down Fury will be breathing down my neck in seconds. It won't be tight enough to hurt him; just enough to keep him from moving too much. You don't want him hurting himself any more than he already has, do you?"

Thor clamped his teeth down firmly on his tongue to bite back the furious reply that sprang to mind. He knew Banner was right. Though Loki was an invalid and next to helpless now, he would not always remain so. The mortals were simply being cautious. He slowly released Dr. Banner's hand and took a step back.

Within a few minutes Loki was secured to the bed by his wrists and ankles.

Banner pulled up a chair beside the bed, seeming determined to prevent another outburst from the God of Mischief.

Thor's eyes were then drawn from the doctor to Loki's face. He was breathing evenly now, his face almost peaceful. It was a relief to see his brother sleeping deeply now, free from the terror of whatever had transpired only twenty minutes ago.

But Thor couldn't help but wonder what color Loki's eyes were at that moment, hidden beneath closed lids . . .

Banner seemed to be thinking along the same lines; he leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face.

"I've never seen anything like that in my life . . . and I've seen some strange stuff," he mused. "Maybe you didn't see it as clear as I did, but . . . his eyes were their normal color one minute, and then it was like someone slapped colored contact lenses on him. It happened so fast I almost didn't see it." He looked up at the God of Thunderer. "Did you notice how it was only after his eyes changed colors that he freaked out?"

Thor nodded silently, his gaze still fixed on Loki's peaceful face.

"And then all that stuff he was screaming . . . has anything like this happened before?"

"Not to my knowledge, although Loki has led a relatively solitary life for some time before this. I was never one he would confide things like this in."

Banner was silent for a long time after this, apparently lost in his own thoughts. Thor sat down on the other side of Loki's bed, glancing only once at the expansive mirror opposite them – no doubt hiding a score of guards.

"When . . . when will my brother wake?" he asked quietly. Banner shrugged in an absent-minded manner.

"Hard to say. With all the drugs I gave him before he shouldn't have woken at all. But he's much more resilient than I'd guessed. That Haldol the medic just gave him should make him sleep for a little while longer. Let's hope that when he wakes up next time he'll be more cooperative."

They both lapsed into silence again, listening to the gentle, steady noises the machines were making. After a time Thor found himself lost in his own thoughts as well, thoughts of what had happened between him and his brother on Stark Tower that afternoon. He vividly remembered Loki's horrified confusion as he gazed at the chaos around them like a man who had just been woken from a deep sleep. And even how he responded to Thor's desperate plea to fight with him to end the war – the madness. _"You don't know what you're asking me to do . . . It's not that simple!"_ Nothing was ever simple with Loki, of course . . . but Thor had heard the quiver of apprehension in his voice then, saw how his hands trembled . . . What hadn't Loki told him? Why was he suddenly so afraid to do what was right? Was he simply afraid of punishment from the Avengers – or even Odin himself – for what he had done? Loki was never one to shy away from the consequences of his actions – even if those consequences involved pain.

So why was he suddenly so afraid?

After a long time Thor looked up at Dr. Banner, curious as to why the man had stayed silent for so long. The mortal seemed to like company, talk. It was then unusual for him to have not spoken for such a long time.

He was surprised to find a frown on the doctor's face, an almost brooding expression in his eyes.

"What troubles you, Banner?" he asked quietly.

Banner shook his head and finally brought his gaze up to meet Thor's.

"I don't really know. There's something . . . something wrong about all of this. It's just . . ." He lapsed into silence again, then abruptly stood and walked to one of the many computers lining the walls. A few taps on the keys brought up what Thor could only suppose were scans the doctor had taken of his brother earlier that evening. He studied them for a few minutes, then suddenly hissed.

"Thor . . . has Loki ever broken his back before?" he asked in a low voice.

Thor was confused by the question. What relevance did that have to his brother's current plight?

"I . . . do not know. I do not believe so. Loki has always been very clever about avoiding injury in battle if he could. Why do you ask?"

Banner pointed to something on the screen that Thor apparently did not have the skills to understand.

"Right here, next to the L1 vertebrae; this little mound right here indicates scar tissue. Meaning there was a previous injury to this area." He looked back at Loki's sleeping form. "That would explain why his spine snapped so easily."

"Are you saying that my brother was injured in a similar fashion recently?" Thor asked sharply. "When?"

"I'm not an expert, Thor. I can't say for sure when, but it was recently . . . definitely within the last few years." He tapped a few more keys, and suddenly an array of pictures flashed across the screen – again, all images of Loki's various injuries, and some of areas Thor knew Loki bore no wound.

He was puzzled by the doctor's sudden interest. What did he think any of this meant?

"Left tibia has the same mark . . . the left femur too, almost at the lesser trochanter. Right leg . . . yup, same scarring. Let's look at his arms . . . again, same pattern. Ribs . . . collar bones . . . right shoulder . . . there's even some hairline fractures along the base of his skull – "

"What are you trying to say, doctor?" Thor demanded. He was not liking the strange look in the man's eyes.

"Thor . . . most of these scars indicate half-healed breaks or fractures – some are relatively fresh. There's no way he got this many during the fight on Stark Tower – not even the Other Guy caused most of these."

"And what does that mean?"

"I . . . I have a theory . . . but I'd rather not say anything until I know for sure."

Thor was by no means satisfied with that answer, but Banner's expression became very closed and the Thunderer knew that he would get no more hints from this man now.

Perhaps when Loki woke up he would be able . . . perhaps even willing . . . to provide them with answers.

He hoped so, anyway.

But for now, there was nothing for him to do but wait, watching the slow rise and fall of Loki's chest with every breath he took.

* * *

Natasha knew she had better things to do than look at security footage. Like eat. Or even sleep. Sleep would be good, too.

But there was something about that incident with Loki that was bothering her. Thor and Banner's descriptions of Loki's eyes in particular. She had had some very up-close and personal face time with the God of Mischief, just that very morning. She had allowed him to verbally beat her down until he was cocky enough to let slip his plan. But as spiteful and cutting as his words had been, she remembered being mesmerized by his eyes – an almost-enticing sea green that kind of made her shiver to look at.

Never once had he shown fear. Never once had he shown panic.

And yet now, he had had the mother of all panic attacks.

And the two witnesses had said his eyes were different. A poisonous green . . . it was that description that had been nagging at the back of her mind.

It was what kept her from being able to go to sleep; she had lain awake for almost an hour before she gave it up for a lost cause. She needed answers. She needed to shut that little voice up in the back of her mind so she could rest.

So Natasha found herself pouring over data entries on her computer in her room, sifting through thousands of images and cameras before finally finding the right one.

She watched the incident play out once, twice, three times, even – careful to watch every detail and see if something jumped out at her. She saw Loki start to wake up, stir a little in his bed before turning his head to the left side of the camera to where Bruce had been standing. The pause . . . and then the shift in Loki's eyes and the ensuing panic.

Bruce had been right; that sickly green was eerie . . . it gave her the creeps – even more so than his normal sinister expressions. She continued to watch the scene play out, ending abruptly when a bolt of Loki's magic smashed into the camera lens and stopped the recording.

It was only after the eighth time that Natasha noticed something she hadn't before. Was it her imagination, or had there been another small flash of light toward the beginning of Loki waking up? She tightened the camera angle to focus in solely on Loki's form. She watched him struggle to get up, to fight Thor's grip on his shoulders. Loki twisted a little to the left, the sheet slipping off of his shoulders –

She froze, eyes locked on the screen.

There, on Loki's lower back, something was glowing . . .

The same poisonous green as Loki's eyes.

* * *

_Author's Note: So . . . what did you all think? Yeah, I know not a whole lot of action or huge plot development, but I don't want to rush this story. Also the Nursing side of my brain wanted to cover the medical-type stuff because . . . that's what i know the best. Lol! Anyways, what did you guys think? Any theories as to what's going on here . . . or what you HOPE will happen? Please please leave a review for me! _


	6. Waking Up

_Chapter 6 – Waking Up_

As tired as he was, Steve found he couldn't sleep.

It had been a whirlwind couple of days – first waking to find he had been asleep for nearly 70 years, then the presence of SHIELD . . . Loki's attack . . . the Tesseract . . . the fight on the Helicarrier . . . Coulson's death . . . and then the Battle of New York. It was almost too much to take in.

By all rights he should have been exhausted. Sleep should have been easy coming.

So why it was that Steve found himself staring at the ceiling of his quarters for hours, mind racing, he had no idea. Maybe it was the result of the Super Soldier Serum in his blood. Maybe it was the realization that Earth's greatest threat was once again being held on the Helicarrier.

Or maybe it was simply the fact that he had questions on his mind that had no answers.

He couldn't shake from his mind why it was that Loki suddenly "decided" to help them win the war. He had been winning – he could have easily overwhelmed the Avengers and destroyed New York. The Chitauri had been a never-ending wave of destruction, and the Avengers were barely holding their own. Loki had every reason to continue with his plan, to obliterate them. Why the sudden change of heart? Was that always part of his plan? Or did he have some ulterior motive?

Frustrated, Steve finally got up and dressed. It was 3:38 AM – if sleep had abandoned him until now, it wasn't going to come at all. He figured he should pass the time trying to get some answers.

It was a quiet walk down to the Infirmary, the muted lights of the ship adding to the sleepy atmosphere. After several minutes, Steve found himself in the antechamber of Infirmary Room 4, looking through the one-way mirror into the dim room beyond.

Loki was lying on the hospital bed, completely still and apparently still in a drugged sleep. Steve's limited knowledge of medical equipment told him that the god's heart rate and breathing were both steady, IV fluids steadily dripping into the tubing attached to the pale arm. He could just see the leather restraints strapped to both his wrists and even his ankles. Thor sat slumped in a chair by the bed, head sunk down on his chest in sleep. Across the room Bruce was also sitting down, but he was tapping away absent-mindedly on his computers, looking fixedly at the screens.

Steve frowned; there was something about Bruce's expression that he didn't like; it was the same look he'd seen when he and Tony had first told him about their misgivings about the Tesseract.

He quietly pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

Bruce's head came up quickly when he heard approaching footsteps. He relaxed a little when he noticed it was only Steve, putting a finger to his lips and thumbing over at the sleeping brothers.

"How's it going?" Steve asked in a voice barely above a whisper. Bruce shrugged.

"Loki's stable for now, but we won't know the extent of his injuries until he wakes up."

"Good . . . so why do you look like there's something wrong?"

Bruce was much slower in responding this time.

"Because . . . because there is. Or at least I think there is. I mean, I could be seeing things, and you know I'm not a real good doctor –"

"Yeah, you've told us all that at least ten times since this afternoon," Steve smiled ruefully, taking a seat next to the scientist. "So what's wrong?"

Bruce shook his head, frowning, then glancing quickly at Thor as if to make sure he was still asleep.

"I didn't really want to say anything in front of Thor . . . you know how protective he is over Loki. But . . . Steve, I've got to tell you, there's something wrong here. Loki's injuries are pretty severe, even for an Asgardian. Thor told me he's never seen his brother quite this beat up before. Why is that? Why is it that he ended up like this? I mean . . . Thor went head-to-head with the Other Guy and walked away with only a bloody nose. So why is it that Loki's spine and leg snapped like toothpicks from only one hit from the Hulk?"

Steve nodded; it did seem a little strange to see the God of Mischief looking so fragile and helpless . . . disturbing.

"I found evidence of what I think are older injuries: broken bones, fractures, scar tissue, even old lesions in and on his internal organs. His liver is a hot mess – looks worse than Tony's is now. I found ulcers and lesions in his digestive tract, and even what looks like damage to various nerve clusters. The thing of it is . . . I can't figure out what they could have been from. I can't imagine he got these in Asgard. They all look relatively new . . ." His voice trailed off into silence.

"I'm guessing you have an idea," Steve prompted, feeling a twinge of compassion in his stomach. He may still regard Loki as dangerous terrorist, but it didn't mean he was heartless.

"Yeah, I do . . . but I can't say for sure until I know a few more details about these injuries."

"How are you going to get that?"

"Well, I've sent everything I've gotten on Loki's condition to a friend of mine, hoping he'll be able to shed some light on all of this."

"Who is this friend of yours?" Steve asked, curious. Bruce hardly ever spoke of friends or colleagues he had made over the years.

"He's a professor – he runs a school for special kids in Westchester, New York. He's not a real doctor, either, but he's made friends with some of the top medical experts in the country. It'll take him a while to get back to me, so my next option is to ask Loki where he got all these injuries."

"I doubt he'll be very interested in confiding that in us," Steve said doubtfully.

"Well, let's hope that he does. It could help clear up the New York incident a lot."

Steve gave Bruce a significant look.

"You're starting to feel bad for this guy, aren't you?" he accused. Bruce sighed, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded.

"I wasn't at first; I mean, when we first brought him back here, I was only helping him out of obligation. But when he woke up and panicked . . . Steve, you should have seen the look on his face. I've never seen a clearer example of pure terror from anyone else. Never once in all of our encounters with Loki have we seen him afraid. Something about his behavior – and now combined with what I know about his injuries – it just tells me that there might be more going on here than we knew about before." He cocked an eyebrow at the soldier beside him. "Why? You don't think he deserves at least a little of our sympathy?"

"Bruce, this is a man who only 24 hours ago was hell-bent on taking over the planet and making it into his own personal playground. He's done some horrible things, and none of those can be easily forgiven or explained away. I'm all for giving people a second chance . . . but Loki's going to have to convince me that he deserves it."

Bruce's dark eyes darkened even further when he glanced back at his charts.

"If my theory is right . . . I don't think that will be a problem," he muttered.

Their quiet conversation was cut short by a low noise from across the room. Both men looked up quickly to see that the noise had come from Loki. His eyes were shut tight, his expression almost pained. The monitors along the wall began alarming softly: heart rate had increased dramatically. His breathing was shallow and uneven, and he was clutching the sheets beside him in a white-knuckled grip.

Steve shot to his feet, combat-ready.

"Is he waking up?" he demanded sharply. Bruce consulted his instruments and shook his head.

"No. No, he's still asleep. He's in full REM . . . I think he's having a nightmare."

Loki's moans were growing louder and more desperate, his whole frame trembling violently. Thor's eyes shot open and he leaned over the bed in an instant.

"Loki? Brother, wake up! You're safe. Loki!"

But Thor's efforts did not have their desired effect. At the touch of Thor's hand on his shoulder Loki began thrashing in his sleep, his breath now coming in agonized gasps. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his moaning increased in volume.

" . . . no . . . stop . . . can't . . . monsters! . . . no more! . . . please . . . hurt me . . . !"

"Loki! Loki, you're only dreaming! _Wake up!_"

That last shout finally seemed to snap him out of it. With a strangled cry Loki jerked awake and instantly began struggling against the straps on his wrists.

For one fraction of a second they saw a sickly green glow in Loki's eyes . . . but almost before they realized it the color faded back into a bright sea-green.

"Loki, cease struggling! You will only injure yourself further. Please relax."

"Let me go! I-" Loki's strangled voice cut off, his body still straining against the straps for several moments. Then the dream-panic faded into confusion and the straining muscles relaxed to merely tense. He blinked several times as his gaze focused on the figure leaning over his bed. " . . .Thor?"

"Yes, brother. It is I."

There was another pause. Then Loki shut his eyes and groaned.

"I suppose it was too much to hope for . . ."

"What, brother?"

"That I would be dead. Because now I must suffer once more through your endless drivel."

"Nice to see you haven't lost your sense of humor, Loki," Steve called out.

Loki's eyes immediately flashed in his direction. For one fleeting second Steve thought he saw more confusion, but then it quickly faded into a bored resolution. The god laid his head back against the pillow and sighed.

"Oh Hel. Perhaps I _am_ dead after all."

"Hate to disappoint you, Loki, but you're not dead," Bruce replied. Oddly enough he was smiling.

Loki's chuckle held no genuine mirth.

"Of course. How foolish for me to believe I had escaped you all again. Well, what is it to be this time? Isolation? Mind games? Outright floggings? I assume that cage you placed me in has yet to be replaced. Or is this room to become my new prison?"

"You're not in prison, Loki," Bruce answered, sounding a little shocked.

"And these?" the god demanded, tugging a little on the straps around his wrists. There was a devilish smile playing around his mouth. Bruce turned red with embarrassed anger.

"Those were not my idea," he muttered.

"And why are you preventing me from moving my legs? Is this a new form of imprisonment you mortals have devised specially for me?"

"What's the last thing you remember, Loki?" Steve said, leaning back against the console behind him with his arms crossed over his chest.

"You wish to know about my orders from the Chitauri, I suppose?" Loki sneered, shaking his head in amusement.

"No. I want to know what the last thing you remember before you woke up here just now."

Loki frowned, suddenly looking confused. Apparently he hadn't expected that question. He was quiet for so long that Steve wasn't sure he would respond at all. Finally, Loki turned his gaze back to him.

"I do not see why I need answer to you, mortal. Now release me!" He yanked on the straps again, more forcefully this time. Steve could see the leather fibers start to fray with the strain.

"Loki, just try to calm down, alright?" Bruce admonished. "What Steve is trying to say is that . . . well, you can't get up. Not yet anyway. When the Hul- the Other Guy slammed into you on the Tower, you broke your back. With the amount of damage that impact . . . and other events . . . caused, you probably won't be able to walk for a while."

Steve froze suddenly.

Loki's eyes . . . was that _fear?_

The god quickly turned his head away, his gaze now fixed at the white ceiling overhead. The monitors along the walls registered a jump in his pulse, his breathing now shallow and erratic again. His fists were clenched at his sides, but it didn't hide the shaking.

"Loki? What's wrong?" Thor asked worriedly.

Loki didn't answer. He shut his eyes, clenching his jaw tightly . . . and there was something glistening in the corner of his eye . . .

"Brother-?"

"_Don't!_ Call me that!" Loki bellowed, his eyes snapping open. They looked unusually bright now. "I am not your brother, you imbecile! Leave me alone!"

"Thor, move back," Bruce instructed sharply, waving Thor away. The Thunderer looked deeply hurt but did as he was told.

They all watched in confused silence as Loki struggled to regain control of what little composure he had left. Steve decided that mentioning Loki's panic attack, his nightmare just now, or the fact that the god seemed to be on the verge of tears . . . mentioning all of that would be a bad idea. In that moment Steve saw Loki in a different light: like a soldier desperately trying not to fall apart in front of his enemies. A little distance in that moment was the smart route.

After several minutes it seemed as if Loki was calming down. His breathing evened out, and his features smoothed into a neutral calm. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was a very long 60 seconds before he opened them again.

"How are you feeling?" Bruce finally asked. Loki snorted derisively, not making eye contact.

"Why would my physical discomfort mean anything to you? I am merely a prisoner, am I not?"

"Ok, we've been through this already, Loki. You're not a prisoner . . . at least not yet. Right now, you're just my patient. And I'm asking you how you're feeling because – believe it or not – I actually do care about your well-being." He paused to let that sink in a bit. "Now . . . how are you feeling?"

"I will survive, Dr. Banner . . . unfortunately." He sounded more resigned than sarcastic.

"Brother, please . . ." Thor whispered, frustrated.

"Any pain?" Bruce prodded; everyone noticed how tense the god still was.

"Some," Loki admitted reluctantly.

"Can you feel anything in your legs?"

A fleeting glimmer of panic flashed into Loki's eyes . . . but in the blink of an eye it vanished.

"I believe you could safely cut both of them off and I would not feel a thing," he snapped. Thor shook his head in exasperation.

"Loki, please, these people are only trying to help you . . ."

"I need no one's help, Odinson," Loki hissed.

"Well, I hate to break it to you, Loki, but you're stuck with us for a while. You may not believe it, but we _are_ trying to help you." Bruce paused. "If you want, I can give you something for the pain, maybe even something to help you sleep."

Loki's head slowly turned until his eyes were locked on the doctor's. He was thinking, hard. Maybe he was trying to decide if he should trust any of them. But no matter how well Loki tried to hide it, Steve could see that he was in a great deal of pain. After several tense minutes, Loki turned away with the tiniest nod.

Bruce slowly walked over to the bed, two syringes in his hands. He injected the first medication into the IV line, waiting a few seconds for it to begin to take effect. By the time he injected the second drug Loki's eyes were already starting to close.

"Try to rest and recover your strength, brother," Thor said quietly.

" . . . Not . . . your brother . . . you idiot . . ."

Within seconds Loki was in a deep sleep once again.

"I think it's time we all get some proper shut-eye, too," Steve said after a few seconds. "Bruce, why don't you go back to your room and get some sleep. Thor can call you if Loki wakes up again."

"Don't think Fury will be too happy if I leave . . ." Bruce protested weakly, his heart not really in it.

"I don't think Loki will be a problem for a while; he knows he can't get away, and even if he uses his magic he knows he needs us if he wants to walk out of here again. It'll be ok. And if it isn't . . . well, then you can pin the blame on me." He looked over at the Thunderer. He looked as if he was swaying on his feet. "Unless . . . Thor, do you want to go get some rest?"

Thor shook his head stubbornly.

"I shall remain with my brother."

Steve shrugged. He expected that answer anyway. After Bruce mumbled a half-hearted "good-night" he walked out of the Infirmary, leaving Steve alone with the two gods. Turning down the lights to a muted glow Steve quietly followed, casting one more glance back at the God of Thunder sitting beside his brother.

Thor could take care of things now . . .

* * *

Late in the night Natasha started awake, adrenaline-filled senses ready for combat.

It took several disorienting seconds for her to realize that there was no danger. She was in her room, alone, with no sign of trouble anywhere near her. She counted to ten, slowing her heart rate and breathing back down to a normal rhythm.

What the devil had woken her up like that?

She slowly got up from the bed, slipping the knife back under her pillow, and stood in the middle of the room, listening. At first she couldn't hear anything. But just as she was beginning to believe she was imagining things, she heard it.

It was a sharp cry from the room next door – Clint's room . . .

Natasha had to resist the urge to rush out into the hall and break down the door. She stayed rooted to the spot, listening . . .

_" . . . no . . . stop . . . can't . . . monsters! . . . no more! . . . please . . . hurt me . . . !"_

She was bewildered. Clint . . . having a _nightmare?_

That didn't sound right. But then again, Clint had just recovered from having his mind overtaken by someone else's. That alone would cause nightmares –

Natasha felt as if she'd been electrocuted.

Clint's mind . . . overtaken . . . so those might not be his own nightmares . . .

Or was it a nightmare at all?

* * *

_Author's Note__: So finally the moment has come when Loki actually wakes up. What did you guys think? Again, theories? Thoughts? What did you think of the end of this chapter? Big thanks to my pal Chimaera Chameleon for editing this chapter for me! They told me I seriously gave them the creeps with this part with Clint. What do YOU guys think is going on here? Review review review! :D_


	7. Hidden Fears

_Chapter 7 – Hidden Fears_

Dawn was fast approaching when Loki finally stirred again.

Thor had fought against the need to sleep for hours, afraid that if he closed his eyes for even a moment Loki would wake without his knowing. He wanted to be there to talk to his brother the moment his eyes were open, the moment he was fully aware of his surroundings again. He had questions he needed to ask him – questions about where he had been after he fell from the Bifrost, what had happened that had so poisoned his mind against everything he used to love and cherish, and what had possessed him to conspire alongside such bloodthirsty creatures as the Chitauri.

But most of all – questions about if Loki could ever be made whole again.

He had tried to stay awake . . . but the events of the last few days took a toll on him. He needed to rest – he would be no good to Loki or the Avengers or to anyone else if he did not. Finally he consented to closing his eyes, just for a few moments . . .

It was several hours later when Thor was startled awake.

The God of Mischief was dreaming again.

Loki was moaning in his sleep, his face drawn with pain and fists clenched at his sides. Thor watched him anxiously for several moments, but the bindings on his wrists kept his brother from struggling too much. At least he could not injure himself. As much as Thor wanted to wake Loki, to end whatever fears he was experiencing, the Thunderer knew that to do so could be harmful; the first time he tried to wake Loki that evening had been disastrous. So he watched in helpless anxiety as Loki suffered through his dream. Loki began shivering, the blanket slipping from his thin shoulders.

When Thor moved to gently adjust the blanket over his arms Loki's eyes snapped open.

Instantly he began struggling with his bonds again, his breath wheezing through a clenched throat. Wild eyes found Thor's own.

"Help me," Loki choked out.

Thor placed a hand on Loki's forehead soothingly. It was drenched with sweat.

"There is nothing to fear, Loki," he said softly. "You're safe here."

"Please – Thor, help me!"

It broke Thor's heart to hear the strangled fear in that voice.

"Loki, I don-"

"Take them off," Loki pleaded. "Please – get them off . . ."

His brother was straining against the straps as if they were crushing his arms. His breathing was becoming more and more erratic, and Thor feared that Loki was quickly spiraling into another anxiety attack.

"Loki, you know I cannot, they were placed for your own prot-"

"Take – get them – off! Please – Thor! Help – _Get them off!"_

"Brother, please calm yourself-"

"I'm – begging you – Thor! Please! Take – them off! Gods – _off!_ _Get them off!_"

Thor didn't know what to do. He was not certain if Loki was even fully awake. Was he still lost in his nightmare? Could this all be simply an elaborate ruse to get him to unbind him?

"_Thor! Please! Take them off! Take them off!_"

Loki was writhing on the bed, wrenching against the leather bindings so hard they were cutting into his wrists. Blood was streaming over his fingers, the sight of it sending Loki into deeper panic. He was hardly drawing breath now, gasping in both pain and fear. His face was streaked with tears.

This was no ruse.

Loki was _terrified_.

Without thinking, Thor found his hands furiously tearing at the bindings, freeing his brother's arms within seconds. The instant he was lose, instead of trying to crawl away from Thor – or even turning his magic on him – Loki collapsed back onto the bed with broken sobs, covering his face with his hands. Thor had never seen his brother this frightened, not since they were only children, when Loki would wake with night terrors and scream and scream until Thor would come and comfort him –

Not caring if Loki wanted it, Thor pulled his brother's shoulders towards him, wrapping his arms around him. Loki was trembling so violently that for a moment Thor thought he was having a seizure. Ragged sobs and pleas were stifled now, Loki's fingers clutching Thor's arm in a vice-like grip.

Thor felt sick. What had happened to frighten his little brother this badly?

It was a long time – Thor guessed nearly twenty minutes – before Loki finally seemed to calm down. The Thunderer felt his breathing steady out, the shaking dwindling down into tensed stillness.

Then abruptly, Loki stiffened.

"Get away from me," he growled impatiently, giving Thor a hard shove and breaking free from his embrace. The act startled Thor so much that for several moments he didn't quite know how to respond.

"Are you well, brother?" he asked, concerned. Dry, sarcastic laughter burst out of the younger god.

"Of course – don't I look like the pinnacle of health to you?" he spat.

Thor hesitated, wondering if he should tell Loki of the tear tracks on his face, how his hands still shook with residual anxiety . . .

"You were dreaming again, brother."

"Is that not what normal people do when they sleep, you idiot?" Loki growled, struggling to shift away from Thor's reach.

"Yes, but . . ." Thor fumbled a moment. Words were always his brother's strength. If he wished to comfort and not offend him, then his words must be said carefully. "I fear they must have been unpleasant."

Loki grunted angrily and swatted Thor's hands away, though the effort involved must have caused him a great deal of pain.

"_Nothing_ – could be more unpleasant than waking up to see your insufferable face, Thor." He glanced around and, seeing no one else in the room, his face broke into a bitter smile. "I see you volunteered to be my jailor once again. How pathetically predictable . . . Fury chose his torture well."

"Torture, Loki?" Thor asked, thoroughly confused.

Angry sea-green eyes flashed back in his direction.

"Trapped in the same room as _you_. Even the presence of your pet monster would be preferable to your _delightful_ company."

Thor suppressed a sigh of frustrated compassion. He recognized Loki's tactic – he had abruptly changed the subject, no doubt wishing to avoid talking about whatever had terrorized his dreams. In any other circumstance Thor would have relented, allowing Loki time to collect himself and build up the walls of protection he had so carefully created over the years. But Thor couldn't let him – not this time.

"You do not fool me brother . . ."

"Oh, intelligence at last?" the other muttered sullenly, avoiding his gaze.

"You were having a nightmare, Loki."

"_Children_ have nightmares," the younger hissed venomously.

Thor felt his shoulders sag.

"Loki please . . . will you tell me what troubles you?"

"Why would you care?" Loki snapped. "When have you _ever_ cared what I felt?" His angry rant hitched in his throat as if he suddenly realized what he was saying. The next moment his expression smoothed out, the cool, mocking tone back in his voice. "Fury gave you orders to question me, did he not? If I would not break under his special care, then perhaps I would be persuaded to see reason by my so-called brother. That is his game, is it?"

"I am here under no one's orders, brother," Thor began, but Loki cut him off immediately.

"I'm _not_ your brother, remember?"

Thor felt the sting of Loki's words and tried not to let the hurt show on his face. He knew he had not always been the brother he should have been towards Loki, but he was trying to help him now. Why could Loki not simply put aside his pride and anger for once and let him simply _be_ there for him?

"You _are_ my brother, Loki. Regardless of parentage, we grew up together, played together, _bled_ together . . ." Thor watched Loki's face, hoping the words would pierce the brittle mask he forced upon himself. But he remained impassive. "I know you are frightened, Loki –"

"You dare accuse me of cowardice -?"

"Loki, please stop changing the subject! It is not cowardice to admit when something troubles you." Thor sighed. "Ever since we were children you seemed to think yourself weak if you spoke of your fears . . ."

"I am not-!"

"Please, brother, stop pretending!"

"_Stop calling me that!_" Loki screeched angrily.

"Why can you not admit you are afraid?"

"_Because YOU never did!_"

Thor was stunned, the reply he had prepared dying unsaid in his throat. Loki, too, seemed surprised those words had burst out of his mouth; his eyes widened slightly, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

"What . . . what do you mean, brother?" Thor stammered in a voice barely above a whisper.

Loki's mouth opened and closed several times as he fought to find the right words . . . or avoid saying the wrong words.

"Do you remember what I said on the Bifrost? I told you-" Loki snapped his mouth shut suddenly and turned to stare at a blank wall.

"Loki?"

"Your ploy nearly succeeded. But you will get nothing from me."

Thor could have shook his brother for his refusal to just _listen_.

"Speak, Loki . . . I will not speak ill of your words. Not for these moments at least."

Thor could hear only the soft sounds of the healing machines for many long moments. Loki remained upright and stiff, his fingers white where they gripped the blankets.

Then Thor heard the faintest sound over the room's noises.

He leaned closer to his brother.

"-wanted to be your equal . . ." Loki whispered between clenched teeth.

So quiet Thor had to strain to hear it, certainly far too quiet to be heard by the Midgardians' secret listening machines he had been told of.

Was Loki finally going to let his brother understand? Was he finally going to...?

Thor hoped so. He leaned the tiniest bit closer - encouraging but not enough to frighten the man from his confession.

again he had to wait for Loki to convince his own stubborn fears that he HAD nothing to fear.

"How could i be your equal . . . if i admitted to fears you never laid claim to? You, who never woke to crushing terror and had need of-" Loki's voice cut off abruptly. From the hard set to his jaw Thor knew Loki would say no more.

But he had said enough.

"I understand, bro- Loki." However much it pained him, Thor would refrain from the word if it caused such a reaction. "But I say to you... Fear of such things that are _meant_ to be feared is not cowardice... It is only of late that i have learned that to do otherwise is great foolishness . . . In this you were always wiser than I."

Loki stared at Thor in bewilderment. This was nearly the first time Thor had ever admitted to anything close to apprehension to his brother . . . and it was clearly not an admission Loki had been expecting. He blinked rapidly for a few moments before turning away again.

When Loki didn't speak again, Thor tentatively tried once more to prod his brother into confiding in him.

"Please, Loki, you know you can trust me. You know you can confide in me now without fear of prejudice. Why . . . why has your sleep been troubled by these nightmares? I have not seen you like this since we were children . . ."

Loki sighed, closing his eyes, his expression now of wearied defeat.

"What makes you so certain they are simply nightmares?" he replied cryptically. Thor felt his brow furrow in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Not all terrors are fabrications of the mind . . ."

"Loki, you are speaking in riddles. Tell me plainly." He hesitated, remembering Banner's own shadowed suggestions earlier that night. "Do these dreams have anything to do with the Chitauri?"

Loki's jaw clenched harder, the grip on the sheets tightening to something close to a death-grip.

"Loki . . . what did they do to you?"

"Nothing," Loki answered sharply . . . but it was too quick a reply, even to Thor's ears, and they both knew Loki's answer was hollow.

"Loki, please be honest with me: was this invasion of Midgard truly of your own making?"

"You don't know what they are truly like," Loki murmured uncomfortably, a glimmer of panic edging into his piercing eyes. "You don't know what they are capable of –"

All speech was instantly cut short as Loki suddenly convulsed in pain, a sharp agonized scream torn from his lips. His back arched off of the bed and his fingers clutched desperately at his head.

"Loki!"

But his brother apparently could not hear him. He simply clawed at his head, gasping raggedly, sweat pouring over his face.

"Oh gods, no more! Please! I didn't mean to-! I won't, I swear! I won't say anything – please, _make it stop!" _

Genuine fear raced through Thor's mind as he desperately tried to calm his brother.

"Loki! Loki, tell me what's wrong!"

"Make it stop! _Make it stop! PLEASE!_"

Thor quickly turned to the blank mirror, seeing only his own reflection . . . but he knew there would be guards watching from behind.

"Send for Dr. Banner! _Now!_"

* * *

_Author's Note__: The plot thickens! I was so excited to finish this chapter, because at long last we get to see a little one-on-one time between Thor and Loki. What did you all think? I know it's not too much action so far, but the interpersonal stuff between the characters is very important too. Hopefully soon things will start picking up more. Let me know what you guys think is going on here at the end! Some of you got VERY close with the last chapter! Please please keep reviewing! You have no idea how much they make me smile! _


	8. Connecting the Dots

_Chapter 8 – Connecting the Dots_

A full night's sleep was a rare thing for an agent of SHIELD, and Natasha had learned even before she came here to thrive on far less.

The security footage of Loki's panic attack had sent her calculating mind to thinking, the small flash of green light on Loki's back staying at the forefront of all of her thoughts. It hadn't help that Clint's shouts from next door woke her up out of what little sleep she had been able to gain.

For some reason – a reason she could not rationally explain – she was convinced those two incidents were connected to each other. She was positive that Clint was no longer being controlled by Loki or the Chitauri; the cognitive therapy she had administered to her friend had been quite effective. And the fact that the Chitauri chose to turn on the Trickster god convinced Natasha that he was no longer in league with them.

Whether or not they were still communicating with him was another matter.

As a result of all of this thinking, Natasha found herself striding down the corridors of the Helicarrier long before the sun was up. She didn't know why she felt she had to get up – only that it felt wasteful just sitting around letting her mind race out of control. Maybe a walk around the floating ship would ease her mind.

She hadn't gone ten steps away from her door when she saw Dr. Banner emerge from his room up ahead. She felt her pace quicken significantly in order to catch up with him.

_So much for peace_, she thought ruefully.

"Dr. Banner!" she called, striding up next to him. Bruce started at his name and turned to face her.

"Oh. Natasha, hi," he murmured. "Didn't think you'd be up this early."

"Couldn't sleep," she muttered. "And judging by the way you look you didn't sleep much either."

Bruce looked distinctly uncomfortable at this, and he turned away quickly before she could see the look in his eyes. But his posture was enough to tell her that the gamma scientist-turned-MD was deeply disturbed.

"Our guest in the Infirmary kept me awake," he admitted. "Guess I still don't feel entirely comfortable knowing he's still around."

"How's he doing?" she asked, not with any real concern over Loki's health. But maybe with a little prodding Bruce would talk about why he had that dark look in his eyes.

"He's . . . I wish I could say he's recovering. But it doesn't look like he is. He . . . woke up again early this morning. For a second we thought that he was going to freak out again."

"Did he?"

"No. He calmed down pretty quick. Got back to his old . . . charming self."

"Sounds like he may be recovering after all, then."

"Yeah, but . . ." Bruce's voice trailed off into silence as they continued to walk through the corridors, edging past other agents and crewmembers around them. Natasha cocked an eyebrow at her fellow teammate, letting him gather his thoughts. After almost a minute of silence, he went on. "There's something going on here, Natasha. It seems like for every question we get an answer to, three more pop up. Loki's got more injuries than we originally thought: old scars, half-healed fractures and breaks, internal damage, stuff like that. Where did those old wounds come from? And then there's the Chitauri: why did they turn on Loki like that at the end of the battle? And somehow I suspect that Loki's nightmares have something to do with his present condition."

"Nightmare?" Natasha asked, a gut-feeling of suspicion easing into her stomach. "You mean his little performance last night, right?"

"No. He had another nightmare at about 3:30 this morning."

Natasha felt as if she'd been turned to ice. Her steps hitched up suddenly, and she stared at Bruce with a gaze that could have melted steel.

"_What?_"

Bruce looked a little taken aback by her reaction.

"I said Loki had another nightmare this morning."

"What time?"

Bruce looked really confused now.

"I already told you; it was about-"

"No, I need to know the _exact time_ it happened."

"I'm . . . not sure exactly. The security footage would have it all on record-"

Bruce hadn't even finished his sentence when Natasha spun in the other direction, hurrying back to her room and the computer she desperately needed in that moment. As she raced away she heard the intercom overhead blare to life:

_Dr. Banner, report to Infirmary Room 4 immediately. Dr. Banner to Infirmary Room 4._

"Oh sh-!" was the reply from her teammate as he rushed in the opposite direction.

Natasha didn't give herself any time to think about what may be happening with their prisoner/patient in that moment. And quite frankly, she didn't really care. All she cared about was getting to her computer and pulling up the security footage she wanted to see.

It didn't take more than thirty seconds before she found herself back in her room, door shut and locked behind her. She slid into the chair in front of her computer, tapping a few keys and quickly breaking back into SHEILD's security footage. (Yes, it was technically illegal, but since when had she ever really followed the rules?)

The security footage of the Infirmary came up on her screen again, and Natasha skipped ahead to the point she wanted to watch. Thor was sleeping in a chair by Loki's bedside, and Bruce was on the other side of the screen gazing at his own computers. Natasha watched as Steve Rogers stepped into the camera's view. The time stamp read 3:40 AM.

There was a long pause, as it seemed there was a conversation taking place between Steve and Bruce. There was no audio, but Natasha could lip-read quite easily, and she could tell that the topic of conversation was focused on the scans and tests Bruce had in front of him. Both of their expressions seemed troubled . . . much like Bruce's expression had been only minutes before. Natasha kept watching, keeping one eye on the security footage and the other eye on the timestamp in the lower right hand corner of the screen.

Finally, there was more movement. Loki started turning in his sleep, his pale face twisted into something close to tortured fear. No doubt this was the nightmare Bruce had been talking about. After a few seconds of this Natasha saw Loki's lips move, as if he was talking in his sleep.

She froze the image. The timestamp read 3:44 AM.

Setting the computer to split-screen and keeping the frozen image of Loki on the left-hand side, Natasha then pulled up another security file – this time, the image was of Clint Barton asleep in his room.

(It still was a bit unnerving to Natasha, the fact that SHIELD had installed security cameras in each of their quarters. It seemed as if Fury wanted to know what all of the Avengers were up to at all times. But to have cameras watching them while they slept? She had wanted to have a serious sit-down with her boss ever since she found out about that.)

Ignoring the nagging feeling of _this is wrong_ in the back of her mind, Natasha skipped ahead until the timestamp was close to the time she remembered waking up hearing Clint's voice. After only a few seconds, the image of Clint began tossing fitfully, his face also filled with poorly-concealed terror. She froze the image when she saw him start to talk in his sleep.

Natasha checked the timestamps three times each to be sure:

_3:44 AM_.

She felt her eyes narrow in anger and concern.

Loki's eyes changing to green.

That odd flash of light on Loki's back.

And now, Clint and Loki apparently having the same nightmare.

An idea had formed in her head, one that was rapidly solidifying into certainty. She pushed the keyboard away from her and got to her feet.

It was time to pay a visit to the Infirmary again . . . and see if her theory was right.

* * *

Bruce had rushed into the Infirmary expecting to see the place trashed again after another Loki-freak-out. He was surprised to find the room was still intact.

Surprise turned to intense concern when he realized what was happening.

Loki was writhing on the bed, fingers clutching his hair in something close to a death-grip. The leather restraints had been torn from his wrists, and Bruce could see fresh cuts through the pale skin where he had struggled against them. The monitors were going crazy, their frantic alarming almost drowned by the screams of the god thrashing in the bed. For a split second Bruce thought that Loki was still dreaming, having another severe nightmare. But the screams and pleas were of pain, not fear. _Intense_ pain.

Thor looked up when Bruce rushed in, his hands on Loki's shoulders and a terrified expression in his eyes.

"Banner, _do something! Please!_" he cried desperately.

Without even thinking Bruce grabbed a syringe of Morphine and injected the strongest dose he thought safe into Loki's IV.

For almost a full minute it looked as if the pain medication wasn't going to have any effect at all. Loki continued flailing under the sheets, the brace on his back the only thing keeping him from injuring his spine further. Bruce noted also that Loki's legs still had no life in them whatsoever – shouldn't he have started healing by now?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Loki's cries of agony died down into heavy gasping, his fingers loosening their grip on his hair. He was shaking horribly.

"Thor, what happened?" Bruce demanded as Loki struggled to catch his breath again. Thor looked deeply shaken.

"We were talking . . . I asked my brother why he had chosen to ally himself with the Chitauri . . . I thought perhaps I could persuade him to cooperate . . . And just as it seemed as if Loki was about to relent . . ." His voice trailed off, looking at Loki with intense pity.

Bruce didn't like the sound of that. Mentioning the Chitauri had triggered a pain response? That didn't sound remotely normal . . . even for an Asgardian.

He let Loki's breathing even out a bit before bothering to say anything.

"How do you feel?" Bruce asked in a low voice.

Loki's eyes were closed, hands lying limp beside his head. He was still gasping lightly.

"B-better . . ." he whispered weakly.

That reply was almost as disturbing as his symptoms had been; Bruce had never heard Loki admitting to weakness easily before this.

"You know, Loki, now might be a really good time to let us in on what's going on. You're not healing, you've had a total of three nightmares that I'm aware of-"

"Four," Thor murmured quietly. Loki's eyes shot open to glare at his brother.

"-and now you've got a pain response that seems to be triggered by you talking about your buddies the Chitauri. When are you going to be honest with me? I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on," Bruce finished.

"What makes you think I _want_ your help?" Loki demanded sharply.

"Brother, you are evading the question again," Thor pointed out.

"Shut _up_, you imbecile!" the dark-haired god spat hatefully.

"Loki, come on. Tell us what's going on," Bruce tried again, feeling his patience starting to wear thin.

"How about I just _show_ you?" a new voice broke in.

All three men turned to see Natasha step into the room, arms crossed, her expression that of tempered titanium.

"What do you mean?" Thor asked after a pause.

"Natasha, what's going on?" Bruce asked warily. He didn't like the look on her face . . .

"I think Loki can answer that very easily," she replied, cocking an eyebrow at the Trickster. "Oh, wait. You probably _can't_, can you?"

"Are you trying to be clever, Miss Romanoff?" Loki sneered, pain forgotten for the moment. "Because you are not very convincing in the role."

"Turn over and let me see your back."

The order was such an unusual one that all three men were temporarily stunned into silence. Loki was the first to speak up.

"And why would I do that?" he asked mockingly.

"Because if you don't I'm going to taze you and flip you over myself," she replied in a cool voice. "You've been hiding something from us, and it's time everyone learned the truth about why you turned against the Chitauri. Now . . . turn over and let me see your back."

She took a step forward, as if to carry out her threat. Bruce wasn't sure if he should stop her or let her; he wanted to know what she was talking about.

"Lay one finger on me, mortal, and you will regret it," Loki warned in a dangerous voice. Natasha snorted derisively.

"Please, Loki, you couldn't stop a feather from touching you. _Turn over_."

"Get _away_ from me!" he snarled, an eerie light dancing around the hand he pointed at her.

Thor was about to protest, to tell the Agent to stay away from his brother, but the fire in her eyes made even the God of Thunder back down.

"Last chance, Loki," she said quietly, now standing less than an arm's length from the injured god.

"Touch me and you die."

There was a tense pause, and Natasha and Loki eyed each other – one sternly, the other warily.

Before anyone could blink, Natasha suddenly grabbed Loki's right wrist, twisting his hand out and away from him until it was nearly below the level of the bed. Loki grunted in pain and tried to struggle, but his injuries combined with the effects of the Morphine in his blood slowed his reaction time considerably. Deftly reaching out with her other hand, the SHEILD agent pushed Loki's right shoulder off of the bed until his back lifted off of the mattress.

"_Odin's beard . . ._" Thor whispered, horrified.

Across Loki's lower back, just above the brace Bruce had placed, was a jagged series of scars that formed into a wicked-looking symbol. The edges almost looked seared, as if someone had carved that symbol into his skin with a hot blade. Bruce felt faintly nauseous.

"What . . . is _that?_" he managed to ask. The look on Thor's face was one of disgusted horror.

"That, Dr. Banner, is a geas . . . and it was not placed by any Asgardian."

* * *

_Author's Note:__ Finally! Some questions are being answered! What did you guys think? This chapter kept me up until almost midnight to finish...and I have to get up in a few hours for work. Lol! Hope you guys liked this chapter! Just to warn you all: I'm going to be out of town starting in a few days, so I don't know if I'll be able to get another chapter posted for about two weeks. But don't you worry! I'll be hard at work in the meantime trying to have chapters ready to post when I come back! Please please PLEASE leave reviews! _


	9. Guilty by Default

_Chapter 9 – Guilty by Default_

The Avengers traded nervous looks with each other; Fury had been way too quiet for way too long.

After the events of the previous night were fully reported to Director Fury, every member of the superhero team was called to another meeting on the Helicarrier bridge. Steve had arrived on time (as he always did), Thor had followed Dr. Banner up from the Infirmary, and Natasha and Clint had been only minutes behind. They had to call Tony four times before he finally sauntered onto the Bridge . . . well, maybe not sauntered. It looked more like barely controlled staggering. Obviously he hadn't gotten just Shawarma last night.

Fury hadn't paid any of them any attention. His back was to them, his one good eye fixed on the myriad of panels around him. A quick glance around his shoulders showed security footage of every incident with Loki last night, and on the far right screen was a live feed from Infirmary Room 4.

Loki was alone, lying in the bed, the monitors still quietly observing the god's vitals. The Trickster's eyes were open, roaming around the room with an almost bored expression, pausing every once in a while to shoot a cheeky grin or a wink at the security cameras. Each look made Fury's scowl deepen just a little further.

Finally, after several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Fury spun around and walked back towards the conference table.

"Dr. Banner, I don't like the idea of leaving him unsupervised like that," he growled.

"He's not going anywhere, Director. As much as he hates us, he's also come to the realization that if he wants to walk out of here, he's going to have to rely on our help."

"And I did _not_ authorize _you_ to release his restraints," Fury added, giving Thor one of the dirtiest looks he could manage with one eye.

"I care more for my brother's well-being than for your petty rules, Director," Thor returned, his look equally ugly. "The bonds you placed on Loki were distressing him; he might have injured himself further if I had not removed them."

"Guess we can't blame him for that, can we?" Tony muttered, rubbing his eyes. The others gave him slightly confused looks; just yesterday the billionaire didn't seem to care about Loki one way or another. Of course, his comment could have been a byproduct of whatever alcohol he had chosen to consume last night . . .

"Dr. Banner, I've called you all here because Agent Romanoff reported that you have some concerns about our special guest," Fury interrupted, gesturing vaguely back at his monitors. "Make this quick. Now that Loki's awake, I think it's time I had a word or two with him."

Bruce looked a little uncomfortable, fidgeting with his hands for a bit before speaking. He didn't raise his eyes from the conference table, and he never made eye contact.

"Director, I'm just concerned that SHIELD may be jumping the gun with Loki a bit. Don't you find it a bit strange that, just when Loki's about to win the war, he turns on his allies? Thor tells me he's the one who told him how to close the portal. Immediately after that, it seemed as if every Chitauri that was left in New York turned around and started attacking Loki."

"He betrayed them, Dr. Banner. Don't you think they'd want to get back at him for that?" Steve asked from the other side of the table.

"Maybe. But the question remains: why did Loki do it in the first place?"

"I take it you have a theory?" Fury asked, cocking his eyebrow.

Bruce bit his lip nervously before tapping on the keypad in front of him. Instantly digital representations of numerous Xrays, CT scans, and diagnostic data hovered over the glass table.

"I've said this before: I'm not really an official medical doctor," he began. "But even I could tell that there were some things about Loki's condition that didn't add up. It seemed strange to me that Loki should have gotten so easily banged up when all along he's proved to be more than a match for just about all of us. From the preliminary results I got, it looked as if there are dozens of relatively recent injuries – both external and internal. I sent all of this to a friend of mine in Westchester who has contacts among the best in the medical field. He got back to me just an hour ago."

"And?" Fury prompted, crossing his arms impatiently.

"He's told me that, from the nature of these injuries, they look as if they were received during numerous . . . 'interrogation sessions.'"

There was an uncomfortable pause. Steve and Thor looked equally troubled. Natasha had her usual neutral expression fixed on her face, the slight glimmer in her eyes the only hint at her uneasiness. Tony's jaw clamped tight, fists clenched on the table. Clint didn't move, nor did the cruel expression of satisfaction leave his features.

"It wasn't here . . . was it, Director?" Steve asked cautiously. Fury shook his head.

"There wasn't time. Agent Romanoff was just supposed to be the warm-up . . . by the time we were ready for a full interrogation, Loki had already sprung his trap."

"Then if not us, who?"

"Just add it to the list of questions we're going to ask," Fury replied, straightening up. "Let's hope Mischief-Maker is smart enough to cooperate with us."

"I want to be present for any questioning, Director," Steve insisted sharply.

"Not your department, Captain. The Avenger's sole objective was to stop the Chitauri invasion and bring Loki into custody. You've done both. Now it's time for SHIELD to take over."

"What exactly are you going to do to him?" Tony broke in, glancing up at Fury with a very hard look in his eyes.

"Whatever is necessary to get him to talk."

"_No!_"

Four voices all shouted at once, the emotions ranging from shocked to angry.

"Director, just because Loki's awake, that doesn't mean he's up to an interrogation – even less so if your style is in typical SHIELD fashion," Bruce protested.

"Besides, we're supposed to be the good guys. We're supposed to be above that kind of thing," Steve added.

"I know what it's like to be 'interrogated,' Nick," Tony said. "Steve's right; if SHIELD really sticks by its mantra of protecting the Earth, then torture is out of the question."

"And if any but Dr. Banner lay hands on my brother, I will show you what Mjolnir is truly capable of," Thor growled, the barest hint of thunder in the air.

"Back off! All of you!" Fury roared, slamming his fist on the conference table. "This is _my_ ship, _my_ organization, _MY_ rules."

"You know what, Nick?" Tony replied. "For a while there, before the fight at New York, you had _almost_ convinced me that you were just following orders, doing what the Council wanted, when you agreed to use the Tesseract to make weapons. Now, I'm starting to wonder if that was nothing more than you stringing us along in your sick little game." Here he got to his feet, fixing Fury with a hard glare of his own. "We're not your cannon fodder, we're not your clean-up crew, and we're _certainly_ not your personal lap dogs. So don't think you can call all of the shots. I stabbed you in the back once – I'd be more than happy to do it again."

"Since when do you give two hoots about what happens to that lunatic?" Clint demanded sourly.

"One hoot – I've just started, ok Clint?" Tony corrected. "Look, I'm not saying I like the guy . . . and I'm certainly still sore about him pitching me out my own window. And Coulson . . . yeah, that's not something that's easily forgivable. But – look, my point is that we're supposed to be the good guys, right? And torturing bad guys is a big no-no for good guys – wouldn't that make us the same level of un-awesomeness as his Royal Lunatic?"

"Yesterday, you didn't care what happened to Loki," Romanoff pointed out. "You almost seemed as if you were enjoying his predicament. Now you're standing up for him. Honestly, Stark, stick to what you're good at – morality just doesn't seem to suit you."

"Hey, we're all still sore about what Loki put us through," Tony replied. "Nobody can fault us for that. But . . . well, last night I started thinking. Loki's done some horribly rotten things – but I've done some low things too."

"You didn't try to take over the world, Stark," Steve pointed out, but his voice lacked the firm conviction they'd all heard before.

"Nah, but not from lack of effort. Look, my point is that – whether I like it or not – I can feel for this guy. Loki's one ginormous pain in my posterior . . . but no matter what he's done he doesn't deserve to be penned up like an animal and tortured into submission."

"Don't bother getting mixed up in something you can't understand, Stark," Fury replied with a grim smile.

"I should . . . because I _do_ understand."

No one spoke for quite a while; everyone understood what Tony was referencing.

"Now, as far as Loki's well-being is concerned . . . I don't care what eventually happens to him: military trial, prison for life (however long that might be), or kick him back to Asgard and let Big Daddy deal with him. But torture is definitely out. And if you're going to insist on that route, then you might just find that Reindeer Games has escaped your clutches _again_ and is in the custody of your favorite genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist."

"You wouldn't be that cocky, Stark," Fury scoffed in spite of himself.

"Hey, cocky is my mantra, isn't it?" Though his words were light and joking, everyone could see that Tony was deadly serious. "Stark Tower has state-of-the-art everything, including medical equipment and security systems. Not to mention that nothing gets past Jarvis. Loki would be almost as well-guarded there as he would be here – and there would be no worry of sharp, pointy things getting too close to him."

"You're out of line, Stark," Fury warned.

"Actually, Director, Stark has a point," Steve pointed out. "Technically the only ones here that work for SHIELD are Barton, Romanoff, and myself. Banner, Stark, and Thor are not part of your organization and therefore are not obligated to follow your orders."

"Thanks, Spangles," Tony said in a surprised voice, a sneaky grin slipping over his mouth.

"And I agree with most of what Stark's trying to say," Steve continued calmly, ignoring Iron Man's smug expression. "Torture is out of the question. If we can't get Loki to cooperate with us, then we need to send him back to someone that can hold him accountable for his crimes."

"We may not be able to get Loki to talk at all," Natasha interjected. "Or have you all somehow forgotten that whenever the Chitauri were mentioned to him, that thing on Loki's back lit up and shut him up on the subject? The geas may be preventing him from telling us anything."

It was her comment that brought silence back to the table. After about a minute, Fury turned back to Thor.

"What can you tell us about this . . . 'geas,' Thor?"

The God of Thunder shrugged uncomfortably, his grip on his hammer tightening.

"My brother was always the one who was adept with magic. My knowledge of it is far less."

"Well, you probably know more than we do."

"On Asgard . . . all children are taught to despise magic. We learn of the darker types mostly, so we may be able to recognize and stay far from danger. The geas is one such type. We learned to fear it because it cannot be fought against. Once the compulsion is placed upon the victim . . ."

"And here I thought Earth was superstitious," Fury interrupted, rolling his good eye sarcastically. Everyone in that room knew what the Director of SHIELD thought about anything he couldn't see. A month ago he never would have believed in the possibility of magic until the evidence was literally right in front of his face. "Do you have anything _useful_ to tell us about the geas?"

"Only that it must be removed by one who is a master of magical arts."

"Well great. Cuz we have so many of those," came a snarky voice.

"Tony, you're not helping," Bruce whispered.

"Wait a second, Thor," Steve interrupted. "You said that this geas is placed on someone in order to control them – kind of like what Loki did to Barton with the scepter. So if the Chitauri or someone working with them placed this curse on him . . ."

Steve's voice faded off into silence.

"Are . . . you saying that Loki was _forced_ into invading Earth?" Natasha asked softly, sounding as if she didn't really want to believe it. Steve shrugged again, a very troubled look of his own in his eyes.

"I think it's a possibility we should take into consideration," he said cautiously.

"Oh, bull," Clint growled. "Less than 24 hours ago, you were all lining up to tear this guy a new one, and now you're all on his side?"

"We're not on his side, Clint," Bruce spoke up hastily as Thor got to his feet. "We're simply discussing the very real chance that Loki was not completely at fault for what happened this last week."

"Come _ON!_" Clint roared, his normally stoic demeanor giving way to boiling rage. "Even if what you all say is true, it doesn't matter! Loki _chose_ to invade Earth, _chose_ to attack SHIELD, _chose_ to mind-screw me and dozens of others-"

"Don't turn this into a personal vendetta, Clint," Bruce warned, just the slightest green tint in his skin.

"My point is that in the end it was Loki's decision to cooperate with the Chitauri! The presence of this geas doesn't change that; no matter what, Loki has to pay for what he's done!"

"Again, Clint, nobody is excusing what he did," Steve interrupted patiently. "We're not trying to get him out of a prison sentence or whatever else may be suitable punishment for him. All we're trying to do is figure out exactly why he did what he did."

"He did it because he's a heartless son of a b-"

"_**ENOUGH!**_"

A loud crack of thunder seemed to explode all around the Helicarrier. Thor's eyes were on fire, Mjolnir raised and pointed threateningly at Barton. Instantly Romanoff and Fury had their hands on the butts of their pistols, Steve and Tony had both shot to their feet to get between the Thunderer and Barton, and Bruce was edging away from the table, looking as if he was having a hard time keeping his own temper in check.

"You try my patience, Agent Barton," Thor rumbled dangerously. "I grow tired of your endless condemnations. I give you my word that Loki will pay for his crimes – but on Asgard's terms and in the Alfather's powers . . . not your own. If you seek to slander my brother once more – or threaten him in ANY way – I will see to it that you will not live to regret your actions."

There was a long, tense pause, as each person present eyed the confrontation warily. Clint was still seething with barely-controlled rage, and Thor looked ready to smash the Agent's face in. It was Steve who finally had the courage to speak up.

"Look . . . let's everybody calm down and get back to the subject at hand. The real reason we're here right now is that we're trying to decide exactly what happened to Loki during that year he was missing and why he suddenly chose to turn against his allies just as he was about to win the war. And there are still a lot of unanswered questions."

Clint and Thor eventually broke eye contact, but neither took their seats again. Natasha eyed the security footage for a few seconds (Loki had apparently tired of his game of Camera Snark and had drifted off to sleep), before turning back to Thor.

"Ok, so you told us that a geas is a curse that makes someone obey the one that places it. But we know that a lot of what happened during this last week or so was Loki's own doing. So obviously the geas doesn't necessarily _control_ him – because it wasn't activated until after he turned on the Chitauri. What about that symbol on his back? Does that mean anything to you?"

A different sort of anger filled Thor's eyes as he considered Natasha's question.

"That is what angers me more than anything. A geas can be set with no visible marks, but should one be found it is carved on some trinket or perhaps drawn on skin . . . but for it to be used in such a way speaks of unnecessary cruelty."

"Yeah . . . knife tattoos are so not cool," Tony grumbled.

A sudden movement drew everyone's attention. Clint had turned his back on the group and stormed off the bridge – but not before flinging a nearby report pad at the nearest console.

"Huh. Never knew Robin Hood liked tattoos so mu-"

"Tony, _stop_."

* * *

_Author's Note__: Yay! I'm back in action . . . and this story's progressing along slowly but surely! Sorry I'm putting so many dialogue chapters in this thing; I just feel it's important to help with character and plot development. Many thanks all of you who have stuck it out this long and have left reviews for me! Going those two weeks without writing anything was torturous, let me tell you. Hopefully I'll be able to post more frequently now. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! :D_


	10. Mark of Fear

_Chapter 10 – The Mark of Fear_

Natasha watched unmoving as Clint storm off the bridge, a puzzled frown furrowing her brow. It wasn't like Agent Barton to show any kind of strong emotion. Even during the Battle of New York, when they spoke of dealing with Loki, his pleasure and anger at that prospect had been well-concealed – the dark look in his eyes and the dangerous tone of his voice the only things hinting at the intense emotions seething beneath the surface.

But now, ever since Loki had been brought to the Helicarrier, battered and beaten and unconscious, Clint was like a man possessed -

Natasha tisked mentally at her choice of words.

Clint was like a man who had lost control of any shred of emotional restraint he had once commanded.

When the prospect of torture had first come up, Clint had seemed pleased – intensely so. He seemed almost eager to participate in a similar method of questioning. Why then, when Thor mentioned the fact that the geas symbol was unnecessarily carved into Loki's back, did Clint choose that particular moment to storm off the bridge?

It was unusual. And something told Natasha that it was a significant matter.

Clint would never open up to anyone but her, and even then, she knew he would never do so willingly.

But she was a master manipulator – even with her friends and colleagues. If Clint would not readily confide in her . . . she would have to find some way to persuade him to do so.

The debate over Loki's current condition and future fate was still going on when the Black Widow quietly rose from her place and followed Clint's path through the bridge doors. Tuning out the dwindling conversation in the background, Natasha thought through the possible places her friend could have gone to hide.

His quarters? No, it was still far too early in the evening for Clint to retire for the night. When he was angry or upset he did not prefer to lock himself behind closed doors.

The armory? Definitely not. Clint was a smart enough man to recognize that an angry sharpshooter should never place himself in a room full of powerful weapons.

The on-board tavern? Maybe . . . but Clint had never been a big fan of drinking; he always said that alcohol and sharpshooting never mixed, and he preferred his mind to always be alert and focused. Perhaps Stark should take a leaf or two out of Hawkeye's book . . .

The gym?

Natasha felt a smile creep over her focused concern. Yes, that would be the kind of environment her friend would want to be in right now: a room full of work-out equipment that he could spend his frustration on.

With a determined stride, Natasha quickened her pace and made her way down into the heart of the ship.

It didn't take more than five minutes for her to reach the magnetically-sealed doors to the Helicarrier's main gym. A simple fingerprint scan (why SHIELD would want to keep the gym locked up was beyond even her intelligence) and the door slid open with a hiss of pneumatic servos. She peered into the dimly lit room. Not surprisingly, it was completely deserted; a frustrated Agent Barton could persuade all other members of SHIELD to clear out fairly quickly.

What _was_ surprising was the fact that she immediately saw Clint attempting to pulverize one of Rogers punching bags.

Natasha stood still for a few minutes, watching her friend. Two things quickly became apparent: one, Clint had not heard her enter the room, and two, he was angrier than she had ever seen him before.

For a long time there was only the sound of fists and feet colliding with the heavy bag, each blow accompanied by an angry grunt from the agent. Left jab, right cross followed by a shattering right roundhouse kick. Jab-jab, hook, side knee strike, back into another series of straight jabs.

Natasha frowned in concern; Clint's blows lacked the methodical care she was used to seeing in him. It was time to make her presence known.

Clint didn't see her until she was right on top of him. He quickly brought his arms up to shield his face, pivoting back on his left foot to swing out of the way of her flying kick. Before she had even hit the floor she saw his left arm shoot out, trying to catch hold of her front leg and knock her off balance. Natasha allowed her right leg to be swept out from under her by Clint's hand, catching herself on the floor with her left hand and using it to pivot her center of balance in order to bring her left leg out and around in a sweeping floor kick.

Her opponent effortlessly sidestepped, jabbing out with his right hand as she quickly rolled up to a combat-ready position. From then on it was simple cross-jabs and uppercut punches traded back and forth, each one easily dodged by both partners. Natasha let herself be caught up in the game, feeling invigorated by the physical challenge – she always felt better after she sparred with someone.

The match ended when both of them had locked the other's arms up, unable to strike anymore. Clint was breathing hard, a line of sweat on his forehead, when he finally eased up and released his grip on her wrists.

"Not your best work, Clint," she commented, breathing lightly from the exercise. "Guess this whole Loki business has you more distracted than I thought."

She had hoped that their sparring match would have helped to alleviate her friend's pent-up frustrations. Unfortunately, Clint's eyes were just as hard and brooding as they had been that morning. He didn't reply to her assessment and simply turned back to the punching bag that had hung idle during the last ten minutes.

"Clint . . ."

He went back to trying to pulverize the punching bag, a clouded look in his eyes.

"Clint, what's bothering you?" she asked quietly.

"What makes you think anything's _bothering_ me?" he demanded roughly, emphasizing the word with a rather vicious left cross that made the bag shudder on its chain.

"The last time I saw you practicing your rusty kickboxing skills, it was right after you were told that your brother had been killed."

The frown deepened, but her words only made him attack his inanimate opponent harder. Natasha knew this chain of behavior – her friend was trying to cover something up.

"Clint, come on," she urged again, in a very patient voice.

"Back off, Tasha," he grunted, letting a few more jabs fly.

"You know me better than that," she answered dryly. "I'm not going to let you keep whatever's got you so perturbed to yourself. It's only going to throw you off your game even more, and SHIELD needs you in top form."

"I can handle it, Tasha, ok?" he snapped.

"Clint, I'm the closest thing to a friend you have. Just tell me what's bothering you."

"_HE'S_ bothering me!" Clint exploded, furiously delivering a roundhouse kick to the bag. "He's a villain, and everyone's treating him like he's some poor innocent bystander who doesn't deserve to be in prison! He _DOES!_ He deserves to be locked away forever for what he's done!"

"Then why didn't you protest when Stark told us he was going to take Loki to his Tower if Fury tried that?"

"No one's going to listen to me anymore," he growled. "Thor's going to pulverize me if I say one more word against that lunatic, Banner and Rogers are all for actually protecting him, and Stark sees Loki only as a fellow 'holocaust' survivor. What I think doesn't matter anymore."

"It matters to me," Natasha insisted.

Clint stopped attacking the heavy bag and finally turned to face her, sweating and breathing heavily from exertion and anger . . . and something else, too. There was another emotion bubbling just beneath the hard exterior, an emotion she could not quite identify . . .

"The guy _used_ me, Tasha," her friend said stiffly. "He shoved his thoughts inside my head, made me do things I'll regret for the rest of my life. I remember telling him everything I knew about SHIELD and the Tesseract and the Avengers team . . . willingly. Just because he asked. When you guys caught him in Germany, I was the one who put a rescue team together, lead them here – all because he made me feel like I had to. I killed people . . . and I remember enjoying it. Like he enjoys it. The sick, twisted, bas-!"

He choked on his own words, angrily lashing out at the punching bag one more time before collapsing into a sitting position next to her.

Now she knew what that other emotion was:

_Fear_.

"And now he's back here, just sitting down in the Infirmary pretending to be hurt, pretending he's on our side now . . . can't anyone see he's just playing with us? He's planning something. And when he turns on us I'm going to say a big fat 'I told you so' to those suckers in the other room."

Natasha knew her friend well enough to see that, underneath all of the anger and hatred towards the Asgardian god . . . he was terrified. The knowledge that his abuser was only a few decks away from him was frightening him.

"Clint . . . he can't hurt you again, not like that." He glared at her, but she ignored it and continued. "The scepter's been confiscated by Fury. He's not going to get inside your head again. We won't let him."

"You don't know that," he whispered, anger finally cracking to reveal the man beneath. "Loki's smart . . . and powerful. None of you – except maybe Thor – know how strong he is. All those stunts he pulled? Those were nothing compared to what he's really capable of. He _let_ Cap and Stark capture him. He could have easily killed them both with a wave of his hand but he didn't. He let them live. He could have gone invisible when he was in that cell . . . could have walked right through the wall and gotten off the Helicarrier . . . he could have even teleported if he wanted to. But he didn't. He chose to stay. There's nothing we could possibly do to stop him from doing exactly what he wants to do. That's why I can't just stand by and let you guys play into his hands. He's dangerous . . . a wild animal . . ."

Natasha could have mentioned her observations to her friend. How she had seen the scars on Loki's back, the fear in his eyes on all of those security images. How she had heard Clint moaning in his sleep, reliving a horrifying memory along with Loki. How scared and broken Loki was now, covered up by a façade of sarcasm and anger.

Maybe Loki was faking all of that. Maybe he _was_ playing with them.

But then she remembered how it was Loki who gave up the Scepter and told Thor how to close the portal, remembered how the Chitauri had turned on him with a vengeance.

No. Loki was truly alone now. There was not plot, no scheme.

Clint knew all of this . . . but there was something else besides his fear, some other emotion she could just barely catch a glimpse of. She thought back to the dream he shared with the Trickster and an idea started to form in her mind. She could have pointed it out to him, but he was her friend and she wasn't going to force him to admit to anything. Let him come to his own conclusions . . .

"Maybe you should go see him," she suggested.

He looked at her like she had gone completely insane.

"Are you nuts? I'm not going anywhere near that guy again!"

"You need to face him, Clint, at least this one last time. You have to show him that you're not afraid of him, that you won't let him hurt you again. You know more about him than anyone else – even more than Thor. Use that to your advantage. Who knows? You might be surprised at what you find."

He still looked doubtful . . . but also thoughtful.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes Natasha carefully got to her feet.

"Just think about it, Clint. You can't run from your troubles for long – we both know that."

Clint was still sitting on the floor when the doors closed behind her.

* * *

_Author's Note__: Finally some answers about Clint! I hope you guys don't hate him so much after this little chapter. The guy really had some awful things done to him and that's not so easy for him to forget. I also took a little creative liberties about Clint's brother. Hope I didn't offend anyone. Lol! This chapter initially was supposed to be a two-parter…with the second part being his confrontation with Loki. But it was turning out to be WAY longer than I originally planned so I decided to split it up into two. The second part will be posted (hopefully) later on today or early tomorrow. What did you guys think? Good? Bad? Please keep leaving your reviews!_


	11. In a Mirror Darkly

_Chapter 11 – In a Mirror Darkly_

_This is a bad idea, Clint. A very, very BAD idea._

That tiny voice in the back of his mind was whispering frantically all the way down to the Infirmary, trying to convince him to turn around and retreat to some place safe. But Natasha's last statement had really hit home with him; fear was not an uncommon feeling with him – he just knew how to disguise it really well. In the past, he used his fear to focus his mind, to concentrate on eliminating the threat, whatever it might be. Fear made him a far better marksman than he would have been without it.

But now . . .

She was right. For the first time since before he joined SHIELD, Clint Barton was running away from a fight.

That thought had left a sour taste in his mouth. And it was that sour taste that had driven him to seek out the Infirmary and the enemy that lay within.

He only hoped Thor wasn't there when he arrived. This was going to be hard enough without having Big Thunder glaring at him from across the room. Clint had left his bow and arrows behind in the gym, knowing that it was a bad idea for him to take weapons to visit a sick guy. But he felt strangely naked without them, vulnerable. The idea of going down there with no weapons made him almost as nervous as the thought of confronting his captor.

When he finally arrived, he paused in the antechamber of Infirmary Room 4, looking out through the huge one-way mirror into the room.

Loki was still lying on his back in the bed, eyes closed, arms slack at his sides, his legs still strapped down by the leather restraints. Clint's excellent eyesight took in the way the long, elegant fingers twitched slightly, gently clutching the sheets. Where a cocky half-smile had been only an hour before, a faint expression of pain lay in its place. Loki's chest rose and fell unevenly, hardly noticeable except to him. His face was flushed, and a faint line of sweat glistened on his forehead. He looked even worse than he did when he arrived.

Clint swallowed nervously. Was this really the same guy who only a few days ago had mind-screwed him and turned him into his puppet? It was hard for even him to believe.

_Stop putting this off. Just get it over with._

Taking a deep breath, Clint squared his shoulders and pushed the door open.

Immediately, those sea-green eyes opened and the black-haired head turned in his direction.

There was a tense pause, as both men eyed the other warily. Loki's eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, and Clint felt his own gaze harden back into something close to titanium.

"Agent Barton," the silken voice said at last. "I might have known you would come here. I am honored."

_Shut your trap, you heartless J-Hole!_

"Nothing to say? Why so silent? Oh, I suppose I need to give the order to loosen your words." The creature on the bed grinned up at him like everything was just one big joke, like _life_ was a joke, like the memories he stole and shared were –

No.

Clint wouldn't fall for that.

"Do I need to ask _nicely,_ Agent?" Loki sneered.

Nicely. So that's what he was calling it now. That Liar. Those light words never matched the sound of agony beyond pain, the feel of shattering –

_Stop it, Clint. He's not in your head anymore. Those memories aren't yours anymore._

"I know you're not here for a chit-chat Agent. What would we have to talk about anyway? I know everything about you, already - and you're just no longer entertaining."

_Don't react. Don't. React. He's not getting what he wants._

"I suppose you wish to kill me now." Eyes cold and hard as glaciers. Not crazy, not anymore. "Did your commanders send you? Are you to take the fall, face the combined wrath of your teammates, because of your inability to think for yourse-"

"_Shut up_, you arrogant little jacka-!"

"Tut-tut, such atrocious dialect from one who claims to be a selfless hero," Loki scolded mockingly.

"Shut your trap, Loki!" Clint roared, every nerve ending in his body screaming for him to wrap his clenched fists around the Trickster's throat. "You're finished! Done! Beaten! There's nothing you can say or do now that will EVER make me do your bidding again! So quit it with your threats and taunts! You're nothing now but a common criminal!"

Loki's face now adopted a disappointed, almost sad expression as Clint continued seething and cursing internally.

"You wound me, Barton. I expected a much stronger response from a beloved Avenger. You were much more interesting as a thrall."

Why that lowdown, dirty –!

Clint stopped himself just in time as he noticed his left fist was coming up level with Loki's smug face. He longed to just let loose on the guy, but something (his conscience) held him back. He forced his hand down and let a smug, angry smile of his own slip onto his face.

Loki was the one at his mercy here. Not the other way around.

"Oh yeah? Well, you were much more intimidating when you were walking on your own and not a sobbing, screaming mess when you sleep. Now look at you: the so-called Ruler of Earth . . . pathetic."

"And what makes you think this is not simply a façade? I am a master manipulator – you know this better than any other on this miserable realm. What is to stop me from enthralling you once more and using your knowledge to escape once again?"

Clint shuddered, clenching his jaw tight and tried to ignore the cold knot that had settled into his stomach. That was exactly what he had thought himself. Could Loki really be reading his mind? Using his magic to manipulate him once again?

But then another thought came to his mind, and he smiled – he couldn't keep the cruel look off of his face.

"Oh, that's clever, Loki. _Really clever_. Those kinds of mind games may have worked before, but I know better now. If you really could use your magic to control me again, you could also have used it to heal yourself. To get up out of that bed and disappear . . . shape-shift, teleport, or phase right through the wall. You could have used it to obliterate all of us, call back your Scepter, stolen the Tesseract, and gone back to your plans of conquest. Or you could have escaped back to Asgard, tried to crawl back to Daddy and ask for asylum or fair punishment or whatever. But you haven't. You're still here."

"I _chose_ not to leave the first time," Loki pointed out lightly. "I may be choosing to remain once again."

"No you're not," Clint cut him off. "Like you said, I know you better than anyone else here. You stayed last time because you had something to accomplish; you needed to screw with SHIELD and the Avengers enough to throw them into chaos. You had a _reason_ to stay. What's your reason here? You've made it pretty clear already you can't hurt us anymore. Without your magic . . . you're helpless."

"Enough!" Loki spat, and Clint could tell by the fleeting look of fear in those bright eyes that he had struck a chord. "My magic and my strength will both return in time."

Clint let that last statement hang in the air a while. It sounded hollow to both of them, an empty threat that they knew he could not deliver on.

In that moment, Clint was struck by just how . . . vulnerable Loki was. In fact, he seemed remarkably like himself –

He couldn't believe this. Was he actually starting to _sympathize_ with this maniac?

"No . . . no it won't will it?" he said quietly. Quietly, but still with a razor-sharp edge. "That's what you're not telling anybody, isn't it? That's what Thor doesn't know, what you don't want _anyone_ to know. When the Chitauri put that curse on you, they threatened you, didn't they? They warned you that if you ever crossed them, your magic would be stripped away and you'd never get it back."

"And yet I used magic a short time ago, if you recall," the god answered, trying to sound intimidating, but coming off as more like . . . despairing.

"That was just a leftover, your reserves, it was all you had left. You used it in a panic, without realizing it, and it's gone for good. And now you're lying here, trying to figure out a way out of this, but you're scared because you're helpless without your magic. You're completely at our mercy – and that terrifies you more than anything else."

Loki didn't answer, but continued to stare resolutely at the ceiling.

"Oh, but there's more, isn't there?" Clint went on. He wasn't even sure he wanted to talk about all of this, because it made Loki seem less and less like the villain Clint _knew_ he was . . . "Banner and Thor are both wondering how it is that you have all these injuries – injuries you couldn't have gotten in just these last few weeks. But we both know where they came from, don't we?"

"Shut up . . . " Loki hissed, his eyes shut tight, fists clenched at his sides.

"The Chitauri gave them to you, didn't they? From the second you landed on their world, they never left you alone. They broke almost every bone in your body, waiting for your magic to heal you so they could do it again. And again. And again-"

"_Stop it ._ . ." Sweat was pouring from Loki's face, mingling with the few tears that were already running down his cheeks.

"They poured acid down your throat and made you swallow it. They tore out chunks of your skin with hot blades and left you a bleeding mess . . . only to wait until you healed so they could do it again."

"I said _shut up!_"

Clint thought that making Loki uncomfortable like this would feel good. But it didn't. It only reminded him of all those horrible nightmares he had shared with the Trickster god, how he had lived those memories through the colored eyes of the Asgardian villain.

"They even force-fed you poison, didn't they, threatening to beat you senseless if you didn't take it? And to top it all off, they were constantly telling you that you were a useless, pathetic creature, a nobody, with no one coming to save you."

"_STOP IT!_"

"And for what? Why did they do it, Loki? What purpose would it possibly serve for them to torture you until you didn't even know your name?"

Loki screamed something incoherent in his direction, his expression that of both blazing anger and haunted pain. Clint waited until he had calmed down some before answering his own question.

"It was to keep you in line. To remind you of your place. To make sure you would do exactly as they said. The geas or whatever was just a deterrent, a reminder of where you stood in their books. And then they sent you to Earth."

"I grow tired of your arrogance, mortal!" Loki spat, trying without success to raise himself up on his elbows. His face was still unusually flushed, but there was an ashen tinge underneath. It looked as if he was struggling not to be sick.

"The plan started out simple enough: they get the Tesseract, you get the world. But it didn't stay simple, did it? Things started happening you didn't count on. Such as Tasha being able to outsmart you and figure out your plan. Coulson actually having the guts to stand up to you - a guy with no powers, just someone who did what he had to do to stop you."

Loki gave up his struggle and collapsed back on the bed, panting with exertion, the ashen color much more pronounced now.

"That, by the way, is something I will _never_ forgive you for. Because that was your own choice, wasn't it? You didn't have to kill him – you chose to because it was easier than getting him out of your way. The Chitauri didn't tell you to do that." Clint smiled grimly. "But at least I know that you regret it. At least I know you're going to torture yourself about that for years now."

This was unbelievable. Clint had come here to tell Loki he wasn't a threat anymore, that he wasn't scared of him anymore . . . and now here he was, acting as a shrink to the broken down villain in front of him.

"But it wasn't until you fought with Thor on Stark Tower that you finally made up your mind; you couldn't continue allowing yourself to be controlled by those monsters anymore. You still wanted to conquer Earth – to prove whatever to yourself – but you wanted to do it _your_ way. In your own time and with your own means. _That_ was why you turned on the Chitauri at the end. It wasn't to be a good guy, or even to save your own skin – you just couldn't stand the thought of being someone's puppet."

Clint fixed the god with a furious stare.

"Welcome to my world."

The tension in that room was so thick Clint could almost see it. A sneer slowly fought its way onto Loki's face.

"Oh, _bravo_, Agent Barton," he crowed, clapping his hands mockingly. "An astounding speech. I am surprised you could hold focus for so long; I suppose you think yourself very clever now, yes?"

"Hey, your fault for sharing your brain with someone else," Clint returned, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the console behind him. Loki wasn't a threat – there was no need to get worked up at his insults anymore.

"If you are so sure I am a villain, then why don't you just kill me?" Loki snapped, the slightest tremble starting in his hands. But it wasn't from fear or anger . . .

"No, Loki. I don't want to kill you," he admitted. "Because then I'd be no better than you."

He turned back to face the long mirror behind him, knowing there would be guards beyond that barrier.

"You guys get all that on audio?" he called.

_"Yes, sir. It's being sent to Director Fury now,"_ came the reply over the intercom.

In that moment Loki made a strangled-sounding noise, a sickening sound between a cough and a retch. Clint turned back to see the god vomiting dark blood over the side of the bed. He was shaking almost uncontrollably, the greyness of his skin more pronounced than ever.

_And now it starts . . ._

"And get Dr. Banner back in here. His patient needs him."

* * *

_Author's Note__: The inevitable confrontation happened! What did you guys think? Good? Bad? This whole chapter gave me a lot of trouble, believe it or not; I was trying to keep everybody in character as best as I could. So…what do you think is going on with Loki? Any theories? There will be MAJOR Loki whump in the next chapter, so hang tight! Please please PLEASE review! :D_


	12. No Glory in Death

_Chapter 12 – No Glory in Death . . ._

The atmosphere of the Helicarrier's Infirmary was somber.

Dr. Banner had arrived shortly after Clint sent for him, immediately going to work trying to set the ailing god to rights. Thor had come only minutes later, demanding to know what was wrong and what had happened. He had been ready to track down Clint and kill him for allegedly causing his brother pain, but he was soon convinced that the SHIELD agent had done nothing except talk with Loki.

There were angry shouts and questions and more blood from Loki before things started to seem as if they were calming down.

But not for long.

It soon became clear that Loki's condition was deteriorating much faster than anyone had anticipated.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Loki was hemorrhaging internally. For a while, Bruce simply thought that it was just another injury from the Battle of New York that he had missed in his initial assessment. But further examination revealed quite a different story. The bleeding was coming from the dozens of ulcers and internal lacerations from Loki's stomach and throat – the same ulcers that had only yesterday been closed. Though Bruce wasn't a true medical doctor, he knew that unless surgery was done to cauterize the exposed blood vessels there was a very good chance that Loki could bleed out. But Loki had flat-out refused any such treatment, threatening to snap his neck if he came at him with a scalpel. Everyone knew it was more or less an empty threat (the Other Guy would come out pretty quick if he did), but nobody had the heart to point that out.

As a result, every thirty minutes or so, Loki would either be coughing up or vomiting small amounts of blood, each time draining away a little more of his strength and determination.

A transfusion was out of the question – Loki was another species, for crying out loud! If not for the saline drip attached to the IV, Bruce knew Loki's vital signs would not have been as strong as they were.

But that didn't last long, either. Only two hours after the bleeding started, the monitors registered a worrying change. The steady, monotone voice in the background began to noticeably quicken as Loki's pulse rose. Though the room was comfortable for the healthier occupants, Loki was sweating profusely beneath the thin sheet. Bruce bit his lip when he realized that an infection had worked its way through the god's body undetected. Despite his best efforts to control it, the fever began to steadily climb every hour.

Bruce didn't understand why his patient had taken a turn for the worse. Nothing about the situation made sense to him: the causes, the results, even the patient himself were just mysteries upon mysteries.

Bruce couldn't expect to find answers when he hardly even knew the questions.

Thor became increasingly distraught as his brother's condition worsened. He was constantly hovering over Bruce's shoulder, wanting to help but not knowing what he could do. More than once Bruce tried to order Thor away, but when a rumble of distant thunder punctuated his fifth refusal Bruce gave it up for a lost cause. He had a very sick patient to think about, and he didn't have time to waste on the stubbornness of the God of Thunder.

The rest of the Avengers looked on through the antechamber's one-way mirror, different expressions on each face. Steve shook his head worriedly.

"He's not healing . . . " he muttered under his breath.

"Wow, you've got a mind like a steel trap, Cap," Tony sneered sarcastically. "He's not just not healing – he's getting _worse_."

"Well, _why isn't he healing?_" Steve asked, now sounding frustrated – at Tony specifically, and also at this whole confounded situation.

"How about it, Clint?" Tony asked, turning to the agent with arms folded across his chest. "You're our resident expert on Reindeer Games now. This because of that curse his buddies put on him?"

Clint shrugged, looking uncomfortable. He was having a hard time maintaining his reputation of Loki-hater – this was almost too painful to watch.

"Like I said, that geas was supposed to be a deterrent – a way of persuading Loki to cooperate with them. It blocks his magic and can actually accelerate any injury he already has."

"How do you know that? For sure, I mean." Steve also turned to the Agent, curiosity in his eyes. Clint looked down at his feet, clenching his jaw tightly.

" . . . I watched them do it."

There was an uncomfortable pause; thankfully, no one saw fit to question Clint any further on the subject.

"So," Natasha spoke up, "we've got an Asgardian god who has a curse on him that's keeping him from talking about his former allies as well as neutralizes his magic and is slowly killing him from the inside out." Her lips pressed together in a frown. "Not exactly a good situation."

At that moment the door opened and Fury stepped inside, his usual frown on his face. He nodded towards the commotion in the other room.

"He say anything yet?" he asked roughly. Tony started counting off on his fingers without hesitating.

"Uh, let's see . . . 'Shut up,' 'Get out,' 'Don't touch me' –"

"You know exactly what I mean, Stark," Fury scowled. "Has he said anything about the Chitauri?"

"I think he's a little too busy fighting for his life," Tony returned, joking mannerisms gone and a look of warning in his face. "Besides, haven't we established that he _can't_ say anything about them? That stupid curse is messing with him big-time, and I doubt any amount of persuasion on your part is going to get him to open up."

Fury clearly wasn't happy about that, but the Director of SHIELD also recognized that there was nothing he could do about it.

They were all distracted by seeing Bruce start in on what looked like a very heated discussion with the Asgardian brothers. Bruce looked quietly frustrated, Thor exasperatedly worried, and Loki . . . the only thing that could describe his expression was that of indignant disgust. The latter was the one who seemed to be doing all the shouting, punctuated by periodic coughing fits. The walls were soundproofed, so there was no way they could hear what was being said.

"Hmm," Natasha murmured, cocking an eyebrow. "Guess Loki is a bit opposed to allowing a second opinion."

Before anyone could ask what she meant Bruce abruptly turned away from the other two and stormed out of the room. A moment later the door leading into the room opened and he stepped through, looking frustrated and angry and even a little frightened.

"What's up? Prima Donna kick you out?" Tony asked, trying to lighten Bruce's obviously dark mood.

"Knock it off, Tony, now's not the time," he growled in return. The others could see how his hands were shaking slightly, the tiniest hint of green in his eyes. He took a deep breath to steady himself before looking back up again. "Ok, so here's the deal: Loki's dying."

Even Fury seemed stunned by the blunt proclamation.

"Come on, Bruce," Tony swallowed hard, his casual voice not able to cover up his own shock. "You're pulling our leg, right?"

"No, I'm not. Slowly but surely . . . he's on his way out. At the rate his condition is declining, he'll be dead before the week is out."

"And . . . there's nothing you can do?" Steve asked softly, looking back into the white room as Loki collapsed back onto the bed, turning away from an abjectly terrified God of Thunder.

"Nothing he'll _let_ me do," Bruce clarified, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily. "He needs surgery to stop the bleeding. He needs surgery to fix his back. And he needs a heck of a lot of medications to get rid of that infection he's got. Problem is he's refusing treatment; he won't let me come near him anymore."

"Why?"

Bruce threw up his arms, exasperated.

"I don't know . . . maybe he still doesn't trust me. Maybe he doesn't want to admit he needs help. Maybe he _wants_ to die . . . I just don't know."

"I take it _Thor_ still wants you to help," Natasha said, nodding towards the pair. The blonde god had sunk down into a chair, head in his hands, his posture that of frustration and anxiety.

"Loki's his brother – of _course_ he still wants me to help. But . . . look, guys, even if I was a full MD, I'm not sure I could really do much now. I mean, I can treat the symptoms but I can't treat the cause. This is _magic_ we're dealing with here."

They all stood watching in silence for a few minutes, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Finally Clint turned and walked away. He couldn't watch anymore. It was hard to hang onto his hatred of Loki when he saw him so miserable like that. A moment later Fury also left; he had no interest in what was happening to Loki in that moment, really. He needed information, and it was clear that he wasn't going to get any right then.

Bruce, Tony, Steve, and Natasha exchanged worried glances.

"So . . . what do we do now?" Steve murmured.

No one had an answer.

* * *

Loki didn't know which was worse: slowly dying from the inside out, or having an audience watching him suffer.

He had always heard tales of mortal illnesses, how frightening and painful it could be. As an Asgardian (_Frost Giant_, he amended bitterly), he had fortunately always been immune to such a weakness as disease. But the geas the Other had placed had removed that protection he had long taken for granted.

And if _that_ wasn't bad enough, he now had his enemies watching him writhe in the lowest place he'd ever been in.

Thanos chose his punishment well.

His head hurt horribly, the bright lights of the healing room and the constant chatter of the Thunderer aggravating the pain into something near agonizing. It felt as if someone was slowly splitting his skull open. The slightest movement sent painful needles down his arms and back. His body felt heavy and sluggish, his aching bones feeling as if they were being slowly crushed into dust. Wave after wave of nausea assaulted him, and he fought against every one until his stomach insisted on emptying itself of the blood pooling inside him. But the worst was the burning; the fire rushing through his veins was nigh _unbearable_.

_Anything_ was better than this.

To slowly burn away from the inside out was worse than any torture the Chituari had ever plied him with.

Loki couldn't say he was surprised, however. He had known this would happen. From the first moment the fleeting thought of rebelling against Thanos had crossed his mind, he knew this would be the outcome. The geas they had placed on him was a kind of magic not unfamiliar to him – though he had never used it himself, he had seen its terrifying effects.

It was why he went along with their plans as long as he did.

But now, as the geas took full affect on him, he wondered if he had done the right thing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Loki could see Thor hovering a few feet away. He did not speak (that was a mercy), but the expression on his face communicated in a way that his clumsy words never could. _What is happening to you, why is this happening to you, there must be something I can do to help, why will you not let anyone help you, I do not want you to die . . ._

It infuriated Loki that he felt a twinge of regret deep inside; surely he wasn't growing soft enough to possibly forgive his one-time brother? No. No, it was simply the next wave of nausea that was making his stomach cramp up that way.

He turned his head away and tried to think of anything beyond how miserable he felt in that moment. And his thoughts did take another direction, away from Thor . . . but not in the direction he intended.

_He was slammed into the floor, his head beneath the boot of some Norns-cursed guard, angry shouts all around him: "Bring her back, Trickster! Your schemes and trickery have gone too far! It is your fault Idunn was kidnapped – correct your error, before we skin you alive!"_

_He tasted blood in his mouth, feeling their sword-points against his exposed back – _

Loki's eyes shot open, the memory clinging to the edges of his vision, his shaking hand wiping away the sweat on his forehead. That was a long time ago, a trick gone awry, one he had never intended to cause harm with . . . but his fevered mind chose to remind him of it.

"Brother?" Thor asked worriedly.

Loki ignored him again, another wave of nausea bringing on a new hallucination . . .

_The Dwarves could not have his head . . . so they chose to rob him of his silver words in the cruelest way. He could feel the point of the needle ripping through his lips, silencing his scream, firm hands keeping him from twisting away – _

The metallic tang in his throat made him feel queasy again. He swallowed hard and tried to ignore it.

_It was days until his blood no longer seeped through the thick threads that bound his mouth closed. Weeks since he had opened his mouth, long weeks of metal rotting in his throat-_

Loki tried to roll over, hindered by his deadweight legs and injured back.

_Another wave of searing agony pricked into his back, slowly sliding its way down his already burned, bleeding back. Chained against the floor, head down, he could not even see when the next drop would strike his raw flesh. That was almost worse than the venom itself – not being able to see his tormentor. Only feeling it, as his skin was slowly melted away, the smell of charred flesh, of something dying – no_, dead_ – making his stomach turn – _

The movement only aggravated his nausea, and within moments he knew he'd be sick again.

He clutched the edge of the bed tightly, retching, his whole frame shuddering with the effort. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight against his thoughts as well as his own failing body. The familiar burn of iron seared his throat.

A large hand laid itself across Loki's forehead, gently pulling his hair back away from his face as he coughed miserably. He found he didn't have the strength to push Thor away, or even grace him with an irritated glare (he needed no one's aid! He was a King and a Sorcerer -!). All he could do was wait for his stomach to stop twisting.

"I cannot idly stand by and watch my brother suffer like this –" he heard a voice murmur next to him.

"_Must_ you speak as if I am not in the room, Thor?" he said finally, spitting the last traces of blood out of his mouth. He meant it to sound harsh, accusatory. To his shame, it came out more as a tired complaint. He let his head sink back, trying to find a cool spot on the pillow.

"Brother, I can no longer see you continue this way. You _must_ allow Banner to heal you."

"I must do _nothing_," Loki rasped, wanting a drink of water to ease his throat but too proud to ask for it. "Your precious Banner would see me consent to barbaric methods of healing – a _dog_ should not even be treated so, much less a Prince of Asgard."

"It is true, the mortals ways of healing are not nearly as efficient as ours," Thor admitted, tucking the loose strands of Loki's hair behind his ear. "But they mean well. And if you cannot have your magic to allow yourself to heal – "

Loki slapped the Thunderer's hand away weakly, wishing he would just _stop talking_; his head was still pounding.

"Even if I consented to such a despicable treatment, you know as well as I that it would not avail me in the end. Why should I allow them to cut me open if I will still whither away?"

"Then . . . if you will not allow the mortals to aid you . . . let me seek out one you _will_ allow."

Loki turned back to stare up into Thor's eyes skeptically.

"The fever must be affecting my hearing, Thor. It sounded as if you said you would seek out . . ."

He let the sentence go unfinished. He had not misheard. Thor was entirely serious. It took several long minutes for Loki to find his voice again.

"How will you even bring her back? With the Bifrost destroyed and the Alfather's magic all but spent in sending you here – "

"The Tesseract has the power to send me wherever I chose to go," Thor replied. "It will not be a difficult task in returning to Asgard to seek her out."

"She will not come – you know that," Loki said, ignoring the lump rising up from his stomach. This time it was not caused by his illness . . .

"You are mistaken, brother. She _will_ come. I will persuade her."

Loki sighed, closing his eyes again. The tone in Thor's voice indicated he would not change his mind, and Loki was simply too tired to argue with him anymore.

"Fine. Go. But do not say I never warned you that you were wasting your time in begging her aid."

He had expected Thor to say something else, to speak empty promises and useless words of comfort. But he was faintly surprised when the Thunderer remained silent. He simply stood watching him for a few moments before gently laying a hand on his shoulder. Then he turned and strode out the door – leaving Loki alone with his misery.

The last thing that crossed Loki's mind as an uneasy sleep took him was _She will not come . . . Thor is wrong . . . _

_There's no one coming to help me this time . . ._

* * *

_Author's Note__: Lots of Loki whump here! I hope you guys are still enjoying this story, even if it's taken a lot of unexpected turns! And if you don't like it, then don't read it. Simple as that. Anyways, what did you guys think of the end here? Who is this mysterious person Thor is going to bring to Midgard? I'd love to hear your guesses! Extra Brownie Points to anybody who can get it right! I will try to have the next chapter posted soon, but please be patient; I'll get it out as fast as I can! Please leave reviews! :D_


	13. Black or White

_Chapter 13 – Black or White_

Thor emerged from the Infirmary with a strange look on his face.

When questioned by the remaining Avengers, he only muttered something barely comprehensible – something about "healer" and "Asgard" – and then insisted on speaking with Director Fury immediately.

Steve had not been present for the conversation, but it soon became common knowledge all over the Helicarrier. Thor had marched straight to Fury's office and demanded – not asked, _demanded_ – the Tesseract be returned to him at once. Fury had asked him suspiciously as to why he needed the artifact so badly. But Thor was plainly on a mission and refused to answer anything the one-eyed man asked him. The conversation became so tense that at one point Thor made a veiled threat that, if the Tesseract was not given to him willingly, then he would have no qualms taking it by force.

Needless to say, Fury was a wise enough man to know when not to argue with a determined god. The Tesseract was handed over to the Thunderer without any more discussion, and Thor almost immediately vanished, a burst of radiation the only indication of a portal being opened.

It was so odd for Thor to leave like that, especially when it was plain that his brother was dying. His allies could only assume he was going back home for help.

Tony had eventually tired of watching Loki in the Infirmary and left with a very subdued attitude. Steve guessed that Iron Man was going to drink his concern away . . . it was an all-too-common habit with him. Natasha left soon after to seek out Clint, and Bruce – his duties to the sick man having been rejected – hadn't been sure of what else to do besides go back to his room and try to sleep . . . although he hadn't seemed too hopeful of that when he left.

That left Steve Rogers alone, standing in the antechamber behind the long mirror, to contemplate how much had changed in just a few days.

For a while, he continued to watch Loki, an uncomfortable feeling nagging at the back of his mind. In just the few hours since Thor left, it seemed as if the Trickster god had gotten even worse. True, he was no longer vomiting as frequently as before, but the choked-sounding rattle that was coming from his chest was almost frightening. It was as if Loki no longer had the strength to even breathe properly. He simply lay back limply against the bed, his face and chest glistening in a thick sheen of sweat.

It was almost disturbing how . . . _human_ he looked in that moment.

Finally Steve decided to step inside the room. Enemy or not, no man deserved to die like that alone.

He looked at the sleeping figure for several long minutes, feeling – not for the first time since the war started – confused and conflicted.

When had things changed so drastically?

He had grown up knowing what sorts of things were good - hard work was good, pride in your country was good, standing up for the right thing and fighting for what you believed was completely and irrevocably _good_ - and which things were bad - weakness of heart was bad, hurting others was bad, enjoying killing was bad, lying was bad (unless it was for a good purp- no. No, even then it wasn't _good_ . . . maybe not quite so bad as hurting another . . . so it was a gray area).

Now it seemed like _everything _was a gray area.

Fury stood firmly for protecting his country, protecting mankind . . . yet he lied, kept things back, regularly . . . He stood up firmly for the things he believed in . . . while being perfectly willing to throw expendable lives away for the greater good.

Then there was the man unconscious in the bed in front of him. Loki had sought to enslave humanity, to seize the earth and gain power in much the same way the figurehead of all evil in his mind had attempted to do (what still felt to him scarce weeks ago). The deity also showed remarkable traits of determination and (recently) a willingness to give up everything for his own, unnamed perhaps, cause.

Between Loki and Fury, Steve was unsure who better exemplified his own images of Hero and Villain.

Fury could not be a Hero, not with the methods he used, but then neither could he be a Villain, lest everything he stood for be corrupt as well. Likewise, Loki was not the Villain, not as Steve had always pictured them with their dead eyes and unearthly features, nor was he the Hero (for how could a hero be so selfish?).

Steve Rogers did not like the feeling of vertigo that passed over him every time he thought of how _alone_ he was in this strange new world with its strangely shifted ideals and incomprehensible ideas.

How long he stood there trying to find some semblance of clarity in his mind, he had no idea. The monotone voices of the machines continued on uninterrupted in the background, almost ignored after only a few minutes of listening. He was startled from his reverie by a very different-sounding voice, so quiet and weak that he nearly missed it.

"Come to gloat?"

The Trickster's eyes were still closed, but Steve could tell that beneath the closed lids was a mind that was aware of his presence. Why he had taken so long to speak he wasn't sure; maybe he was trying to give Steve the impression he was helpless – or maybe he was simply too tired to speak before now. At this point, given everything he'd seen so far, Steve was willing to give Loki the benefit of the doubt.

"No," he answered simply.

A pained, ironic chuckle broke through pale, dry lips.

"No . . . of course not. The _noble_ soldier, the chivalrous knight – you would _never_ stoop so low as to strike when your enemy was at your mercy."

The bitter sarcasm was plainly evident, but it almost seemed to hang hollowly in the air. Both of them knew that Captain America was difficult to inflame with insults – and Steve Rogers was never one to take offense easily.

"Has Fury decided to begin my questioning?" Loki asked – but this time he sounded resigned rather than bitter. It was a testament to just how much he had gone through in the last few days . . . scratch that, _years._ "Now would, of course, be the perfect time: I am stripped of my magic, weak and defenseless . . . and the blundering idiot that dares call himself my brother . . . cannot stop you. So go on . . . do as he told you . . . just get it over with."

Loki ran out of breath and lay back against the bed, breathing lightly, finally opening his eyes and trying to glare at the soldier that stood unwavering beside the bed. Steve shook his head, exasperated.

"Will you stop being so suspicious of the whole universe? Nobody sent me here . . . I just wanted to talk to you." He felt like he was scolding a child.

Well, Loki certainly _acted_ like a child sometimes.

"About what?" the Trickster demanded, closing his eyes again. It seemed like he hardly had the strength to keep his eyes open – Steve didn't know how he was going to stay conscious through this conversation.

"Well . . . _you_, actually."

The eyes slowly opened once more, fixing on the Captain with an incredulous expression. Then, slowly, painfully, he started laughing.

"Me?" Loki whispered. "Why in the Nine Realms would you want to talk about _me?_ Is this an intervention . . . a means for you to bring out the _good_ in me? You are just as _pathetic_ as Thor." His laughter cut short, dissolving into hoarse coughing.

"Don't be ridiculous, nothing like that," Steve replied. "Or at least, that's not what this is supposed to be."

"Then what?" rasped Loki, spitting out the traces of blood that had worked their way up.

Steve studied the god closely for a few minutes, and then slowly answered him.

"I guess I just wanted to know . . . why?"

Loki gave him a puzzled look.

"Why did you do it? You had us all on the run, New York was pretty much yours. We were only delaying your plans, not stopping them. You've been twelve steps ahead of us ever since you came here. So . . . why all of a sudden did you decide to give it all up? What changed?"

"I thought Barton made it all very plain to you," the Trickster god murmured, shifting away from Steve as much as he could.

"He told us the impression he was getting, through memories and thoughts you'd inadvertently shared with him. But I want to hear it from you, in your own words."

"Why?"

Now it was Steve's turn to look confused. Loki gave him an irritated glare and took a deep breath.

"Why would you care what my reasons were? You won. You and your precious mortals saved this miserable realm from a just fate. So why would it matter to you _how_ it happened – only that it _happened?_"

It was such an obvious question that it caught Steve off-guard. How could he put into words what he was trying to get at, what he was trying to hear Loki say . . .?

"Because I'd like to think I have a better code of morals than to disregard the sacrifices of another person . . . even if I may not agree with them."

Another brief burst of mocking laughter broke from Loki's mouth.

"Are you foolish enough . . . to want . . . to listen . . . to an _enemy?_"

Loki's breathing was becoming heavier and more labored, and Steve didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to stay conscious.

"Call me foolish – or old-fashioned, or whatever – but I've always believed in second chances. Whether you want to admit it or not, and whether it was for the right reason or not, in the end you did the right thing. You ended the war almost before it started. That tells me that you still have a conscience. And that tells me that there is a chance – a _slim_ chance – that you can't be as bad as you seem. So yes, I _do_ want to listen to you . . . on the off-hope that you will eventually come around."

Loki was watching him through this speech with a bewildered expression; those dulled sea-green eyes were locked on his in an almost searching gaze, as if he was desperately trying to find the lie he _knew_ was hidden in the Captain's words. But several long minutes went by in silence before the Trickster finally seemed to admit defeat. He lay back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling and sighed.

"_Sentiment_," he whispered.

To Steve's trained eye, it almost seemed as if some part of Loki's wall of defenses – which he had so carefully maintained and protected throughout the entire invasion – started to crumble. The defiance seemed to leak out of his body, just as one or two disguised tears leaked from the corners of his eyes to mingle with the sheen of sweat on his face. In that moment, Steve didn't see a Villain – he saw a broken man, a soldier who had fought and lost too many wars and who now almost seemed tired of fighting. Was this what Thor was telling them about? Was this the spark of goodness the God of Thunder so passionately talked about?

Was it possible the Villain shadowed the Hero that lay buried somewhere beneath?

Steve wasn't sure . . . and he was not even comfortable with the idea of it. But then again, he had come from a bygone era where there was a clear line between Good and Evil, between the morals that made Heroes and the greed and hatred that made Villains. The world had changed a lot in the last 70 years.

Maybe he was just going to have to accept that the gray areas were sometimes acceptable.

As long as he stayed true to his own principals, then he had nothing to feel ashamed about.

"Try to get some sleep," Steve offered quietly. "Maybe when Thor gets back things will change – and change is not always a bad thing."

He wasn't sure if that was meant for Loki or for himself. In either case, he turned away from the invalid and quietly made his way out of the Infirmary.

Leaving a thoughtful Loki in his wake.

* * *

The only warning the SHIELD agents on the flight deck had was a flash of light.

A brief surge of radiation alerted the monitors on the bridge that something – a weapon perhaps? – was approaching the Helicarrier. After the fiasco Loki had caused previously, no one on the ship was taking any chances. The order quickly went out for all personnel to arm themselves and take up positions around the engines, armory, and especially the Infirmary; if this was another portal opening, they had to assume the Chitauri were returning for their former ally.

A portal _did_ open, but it was so small and faded so quickly that the agents were soon puzzled . . . and more than a little worried. But when the light disappeared, it revealed two figures striding across the deck, glints of metal in fabric flashing in the setting sun.

The ground commander held up his hand in an order to his men to stand down and lower their weapons: one of the approaching figures was Thor, clad in full battle regalia with Mjolnir slung in his belt at his side.

Beside him strode a woman, nearly as tall as the Thunderer, clad in a long, flowing, golden robe. If it had been easy to sense Thor's regal bearing, this woman held it in spades; her posture, her stride, even the way her blue eyes searched the faces of everyone present.

The ground commander forced back a tremor of nervousness as the two approached.

"We come with no intention of harm," Thor began immediately, silently indicating the soldiers surrounding them. "There is no need for weapons."

"Understood . . . although I must ask you to identify yourself," the commander said, nodding respectfully in the woman's direction.

"I am Frigga, Queen of Asgard . . . and I have come for my son."

* * *

_Author's Note__: Well? Who guessed right? Several of you did, and I smiled when I saw your reviews! I couldn't remember what color Frigga's eyes were in Thor, so I just stuck with the canon version. And Frigga was a very deliberate choice on my part, for reasons that will be explained later. So what did you guys think of Cap in this chapter? I'd love to read your thoughts . . . so REVIEW! :D_


	14. My Mother Dear

_Chapter 14 – My Mother Dear_

Tony always prided himself on fitting in to any kind of social environment.

Whether it was a high-class socialite gathering, a racing event, a board meeting (however much he hated them), or just hanging out in a diner with Rhody and Pepper. He had always thought there was no place he couldn't feel comfortable in.

Only problem with that theory? He'd never met an alien Queen before.

And not just any Queen – this was the Queen of the Universe, Thor's mother . . . and the adoptive mother of the supervillain that currently lay dying in their medical bay.

Tony wasn't sure exactly how she would take any of this.

When he had left the Infirmary a few hours ago, the genius billionaire had only one thing in mind – drinking his problems away. It was a tactic that had always worked for him, and except for the nasty hangovers the next day (or several days, depending on how hammered he got), he had always felt like it worked. Pepper's disapproval had lessened his inclination for alcohol lately, but it hadn't been enough to stop him completely. So, after having watched Loki suffering like he was for several hours – and also having learned that he and the Trickster now had something in common – Tony wanted nothing more than to just go back to old habits and forget any of this was happening.

The trouble was, once he got to his room, the bottle of brandy on his desk no longer held any more appeal.

He just couldn't stop thinking about . . . well, _everything_. How everything had just taken so many bizarre twists and turns: Loki betraying his allies and helping them end the war, the injuries he sustained in the fight, finding out he had been captured, tortured, and finally cursed into helping a bunch of aliens he hated . . . and now the self-proclaimed god was shriveling away into nothing.

It almost didn't seem _real_ . . .

He was interrupted from his thoughts by Fury's cutting voice over his personal intercom.

"_Stark. Bridge Conference Room. Now_."

Tony had walked into that room with a sinking feeling in his gut. Most of him hoped this wasn't going to be a funeral announcement. He had been stunned when he saw the reason for the fuss: standing next to Thor, not quite as tall but almost more imposing, was a middle-aged-looking woman in a flowing gold gown. Long blonde hair hung in waves and curls around her shoulders, and her blue eyes bore a striking resemblance to the God of Thunder. They weren't quite as bright as his were, but they were just as vibrant – soft and kind and open, but with a hint of steel behind them.

If this wasn't Thor's mother, then Iron Man didn't exist.

"So, is the Helicarrier like Area 51 now? We've got more aliens showing up than the borde-"

Glares from around the room shut him up before he even realized he was talking.

He should really start working on his impulse-control problem . . .

Eh, later. This was proving to be much more interesting.

"We're honored to have you here, Queen Frigga," Fury said after a brief pause. Frigga's eyes turned away from Tony and focused on the Director of SHIELD. Tony was grateful – her eyes were so intimidating . . . "On behalf of SHIELD and Earth by in-large, I would like to welcome you on board the Helicarrier."

Fury's voice lacked the cold, sarcastic tinge Tony had always heard. It was polite, respectful, and even – dare he think the word – _friendly_.

Tony was impressed in spite of himself. Ol' Patches actually had quite a bit of diplomacy hidden beneath that trench coat.

"Thank you, Nicholas," she returned, in a voice that was at the same time soft as silk and hard as titanium. (Yikes. When had he become so poetic?) "I wish I could say that it is a pleasure to be here, but the words alone would be false. Black events have forced this meeting to take place. My eldest son has told me much of what has transpired on Midgard in the last several days, and I – and the All-Father with me – find these events most troubling."

"Most of us are a bit disturbed by all of this as well, Queen Frigga," Steve spoke up from his place. He sounded just as diplomatic as Fury; Spangles' hidden talents were coming out as well, it seemed. "Though Loki hasn't been able to tell us everything that happened, we believe we have a pretty good idea of the circumstances that led up to this attack."

"I fear all questions and details must wait," Frigga interrupted, her face and demeanor suddenly anxious. "Time is short. I wish to see my son."

Tony and Bruce exchanged a brief glance. How would Frigga react when she saw the state her son had been reduced to?

"It's . . . it's not pretty, ma'am," Bruce spoke up quietly. Frigga's expression turned sour – almost dangerous.

"You dare to attempt to keep me from my son?" she demanded. Her voice was quiet, but Tony felt an involuntary shiver run down his back. This lady meant business.

"No no! Absolutely not!" Bruce almost yelped in protest, holding his hands up, palm out, trying to appease her. "That's not what I meant at all. It's just . . . I just wanted to warn you . . . Loki's been through a lot in the past week, and it may come as a shock."

"I care not what condition he is in, Son of Banner," Frigga replied. "Loki is my _son_, and I would see him immediately. If Thor's tale is correct, then Loki has little time left. Take me to him."

This time, Tony and Steve exchanged glances, wondering which one of them should accept the honor (duty?) to show her the way to the Infirmary. Tony sure as heck didn't want to be there when Frigga laid eyes on her baby boy . . .

Fury decided for them.

"Captain Rogers, would you escort Queen Frigga down to the Infirmary please?"

Steve's shoulders tensed visibly, but he merely nodded and turned to the Asgardian Queen.

"Yes, sir. This way, ma'am."

"Hold up Spangles. I'll come with you," Tony said, stepping even with Steve. Why should the poor guy be sent into battle without some backup? Even Captain Killjoy occasionally needed help.

Steve's expression was one of thinly-veiled gratitude. He and Tony led the way through the corridors and into one of the many elevators, Thor's heavy footfalls and Frigga's lighter step echoing off of the walls behind them.

Tony had to resist the urge to abandon Steve and run in the opposite direction; this wasn't going to be pretty . . .

* * *

Loki was no longer certain if what he felt could still be considered pain. It was too far past it that it had ceased to be any kind of pain he had thought could exist.

Every fiber of his being felt as if they were melting one at a time, an invisible sun blazing inside him. What had once started as simply an unbearable heat had now become an agonizing inferno. The pain in his stomach had spread all the way into his fingertips, the slightest whisper aggravating his already-protesting nerves. The only part of his body that did not hurt were his legs – or at least, they did not ache nearly as much as his head and back. A strange, tingling was traveling up the paralyzed limbs, replacing the numbness he had grown accustomed to.

A wave of nausea overcame him as the pain swelled again, but this time he could not summon the strength to turn his head, let alone allow his stomach to rid itself of the blood inside it. Hours ago his body had given out on him, reduced to a shrunken, feeble shell of a man, and as a result the nausea had continued without relief. Each breath was growing harder than the last, and it was all he could do to continue to force his lungs to provide him with the air he so desperately needed. He felt as if he was drowning from the inside.

As each hour passed, and the weakness grew stronger, a new emotion had slowly begun to take over his mind.

_Fear._

Fear of pain. Fear of weakness.

Fear of death itself.

When he fell from the Bifrost, Loki had thought that he was ready to die.

He realized now that he was _terrified_ of it.

Perhaps if he called for Dr. Banner, allowed him to attempt to heal him –

But then what was the point? Banner would only be prolonging the inevitable.

But if he could only make the inevitable more bearable . . .

A soft noise of the door opening drew his attention, but Loki didn't even have the strength to open his eyes and look. He hoped it was Banner . . . even Thor would be preferable . . .

He didn't want to die alone.

" . . . Loki?"

He knew that voice . . . he had dreamt about it so much over the last few days. Imagined that he had heard it, wanting it to be real . . . and disappointed so many times. He forced his eyes open.

She was standing there, wavering in and out of his vision, exactly as he remembered her – no, as his _mind_ wished to remember her. She couldn't really be there . . . hadn't he told Thor she would not come? What was he to her, anyway, but a traitor and a castaway? He was nothing . . . he never was . . .

_You can't be here_, he wanted to say. _You're not real . . . you wouldn't come to help me . . . not after everything I've done . . ._

"My son . . ." She seemed on the verge of tears . . . but why would she weep for him? He was not her son . . . never was.

_You're not real . . . you're not real . . ._

He wished his fevered mind would stop tormenting him with something he could never have again.

Frigga stepped closer to his bed, reaching out to touch him.

_This is where it always ends . . . this is where you vanish . . . you can't be here . . ._

Her hand laid itself on his face, forcing his gaze to meet with hers. Her hand felt wonderfully cool against his burning forehead . . .

"Loki . . . it's Mother. I'm here, Loki . . ."

He stared up at her face, fighting against the hope welling up in his mind. Had she really come . . .?

"_M . . . Mother?_" he forced out. He tried to laugh at the absurdity – she _wasn't real_ – but a sob escaped instead.

Frigga folded him into her arms and held him close.

_You came . . . you came! . . . Please don't let this be a dream, you came . . . Mother, I don't want to die . . . I'm not ready to die . . . You came . . .!_

He hadn't realized he was silently crying by now but he was too miserable and frightened and relieved to care. For a moment he was a child again, being comforted by his Mother after one of his night terrors, so long ago now . . . before everything had gone wrong –

_It hurts, Mother . . . I want it to stop, I don't want to die . . .!_

"Hush, child, it's alright," she soothed in his ear, gently cradling his head against her shoulder. "It's alright. I'm here now."

Gradually, Loki allowed himself to believe he was not hallucinating, was not dreaming . . . Frigga had actually come.

At least he would not die alone . . .

* * *

They didn't get to watch for very long.

Frigga hadn't been in the Infirmary room for more than a minute before Steve turned away from the mirror.

"Out. Everybody. Now," he ordered gruffly.

Tony was a bit taken aback by the sharpness in Cap's voice. It was so uncharacteristic of the smooth soldier's attitude.

"What for, Stripes?" he asked. But Steve was already grasping his arm in a steel-like grip and steering him towards the outer corridor.

"We shouldn't be watching this. Out. Everybody – that includes _you guys_," he added, pointing at the guards.

There was no arguing with Steve on this one; Tony agreed – he had caught a brief glimpse of Loki clinging to Frigga like a frightened five year old boy. This was not something anyone but family should be watching.

Just before he stepped out, Tony killed the audio on the security camera feed. Loki and Frigga were going to need all the privacy they could get.

* * *

_Author's Note__: Yay for feels! Sorry this didn't have more content, but I thought it necessary to emphasize just how broken Loki's become at this point; I think any of us in this situation would kind of revert back to childhood for a while – even an Asgardian God. What did you guys think? Good? No? What do you think's going to happen now? What's Frigga going to be able to do for Loki . . . or how do you think it's going to happen? I'd be interested in hearing your theories. Please keep leaving your reviews! You guys have been so encouraging to me throughout the process of writing this story!_


	15. Mother, Queen, and Healer

_Chapter 15 – Mother, Queen, and Healer_

A single year was but an instant compared to the thousands Frigga had seen pass by, but even an instant could feel like an eternity for a mother who had lost her child.

When Odin had first brought the news to her – the heavy tidings that her dear son had fallen and vanished into the Void, Frigga swore her heart had shattered into a thousand shards that refused to mend. The grief, the pain, the confusion, and yes, anger, had been a tidal wave that never ebbed, that threatened to drown her beneath their weight. Her mind was still reeling from everything that had happened: the Frost Giant's attack on Odin, her youngest son and King defending his father where he lay helpless . . . and then Thor had been there saying those horrible things that simply couldn't be true! Loki could not have been a traitor . . . her boy could not have been the instigator of that attack, of the attack upon Midgard . . . upon his own brother . . .

Odin had woken shortly after and rushed out, weak and unsteady as he still was, to stop Loki from destroying Jotunheim . . . none of that could have been true! She had refused to believe it!

And then to have her husband return to the Palace and tell her Loki was gone . . .

Frigga remembered the funeral, the vigil held in honor of the fallen Prince of Asgard. There had been whispers, even then, that Loki had achieved what he deserved . . . why should a traitor and murderer be honored in that fashion? The veiled slights and thinly-concealed distain had been too much for her to bear, and she had retreated to the privacy of the Palace to think . . . and to mourn.

She had found her feet leading her to Loki's room, a place she remembered well . . . her son's only sanctuary amidst a world of people who scorned his very existence. He had hidden the hurt and anger their words had caused, and had hidden them well from everyone. Everyone except his mother. Frigga remembered countless visits to that room, where Loki finally felt at ease to release his anger, his pain, without fear of reprisal or correction. Every visit had ended with her holding his hand tightly in hers and assuring him he was loved and valued . . .

Frigga had wept many times in that room after Loki vanished, knowing such visits were no longer possible . . . never would be possible again . . .

Then six months later, the dreams had begun.

Horrifying dreams. Dreams filled with blood and tears and screams and pain . . . so much pain . . . Shadowy images and deafening sounds, nothing more – but they had been enough to wake her frequently, her face wet with tears of her own. In her heart, somehow, she had known those had been the cries of her son . . .

She had told Odin of her nightmares, but not Thor. The tales of his brother's ordeals would have been too much for the God of Thunder's heart to bear.

She had desperately hoped that what she had dreamt was nothing more than that: a dream, one that would fade in time and be forgotten. But the dream kept coming back, and after suffering through countless sleepless nights, Frigga had convinced the All Father to speak to Heimdal, to ask the Gatekeeper if he would search for the lost Prince, to see if he truly was alive . . .

Odin had hidden the details from her, once Heimdal told them Loki was indeed alive. Frigga had wanted to laugh for joy and cry in dismay when she heard these tidings; surely if Loki was alive, then her dreams were actually glimpses of what was happening to him. And when Odin forbade anyone from giving her further news . . . then her rage had been renewed. Loki was her son! She had every right to know how he fared, what was being done to retrieve him . . .

Thor had been sent to Midgard shortly after, Heimdal saying only that he had seen Loki appear in that realm. Then, for what seemed like an eternity, there was silence.

And now, here she was, holding her precious boy, weak and broken . . . but hope beyond hope, alive.

Her arms tightened around Loki's slight frame, holding him close to her, trying to quell the shivers she felt in his body. He was so weak, and it frightened her. Those slender fingers that had been so clever with their magic and hiding a secret strength, were now only barely able to clutch the sleeves of her dress. Her fingers ran soothingly through the long black hair, damp with sweat. The forehead pressed against her shoulder was far too warm . . .

". . . _M-mother . . . mother_ . . .!"

"Hush, Loki, it's alright. I'm here . . . I'm here, there's nothing to fear any longer."

". . . _It h-hurts, mother . . . it hurts . . .!_"

She held him tighter, trying to ignore the way that quiet, brittle voice tore at her heart . . .

"I know, child. It's alright, it will be over soon."

Mother and son clung to each other for an uncounted time, both feeling immense relief and comfort at the presence of the other.

When Loki's tears and shivers had finally subsided, Frigga released him from her arms and gently lowered him back onto the bed. His eyes were closed now, the remnants of his frightened tears mingling with sweat. Frigga carefully smoothed his hair back away from his pale face, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

How many times had she done this when he was a child, chasing away terrors of the night and the cruel taunts of Asgard by day . . .?

" . . . sorry . . ." She nearly missed the words that slipped through pale, dry lips. " . . . I'm sorry . . ."

"Sorry for what, child?" she murmured gently, seeing those pale eyes open once more. Loki seemed to struggle for a moment, either for words or for breath . . . Frigga did not like the sounds coming from deep inside his chest . . .

" . . . For lying . . . to you. I should have told y . . ." He broke off in a feeble cough.

"Hush, my son, you need not apologize," she cooed in his ear, continuing to stroke his hair. "I am only glad you are alive. I have missed you terribly since you . . . we thought . . ."

Loki shifted beneath her, painfully maneuvering himself away from her touch.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice suddenly a little stronger, the light in his pale eyes a little brighter . . . "I'm not . . . your . . . son –"

Frigga hushed him instantly, fearing his mind was fading with his weakening body. If she was to help him, he needed to remain calm.

"You _are_ my son, Loki," she insisted firmly – firmly, but with all the warmth and love and relief she felt in her heart. "I may not have born you, but you have _always_ been my son. And no amount of time or trouble will _ever_ change that."

He was quiet for several minutes after that, whether contemplating her words or simply slipping in and out of exhausted sleep. Finally, she heard him take in another shuddering breath.

"Why . . . are you here?" he asked, and Frigga heard the hard edge tingeing his words.

"Thor sent for me, Loki. He told me –"

"I know . . . what he told you . . . But w-why did you come?"

"I came because my son needed me to come," Frigga insisted, almost angrily. Even dying, why Loki chose to hold to his stubbornness and resentment . . .?

"Any healer . . . would have done well," he growled. But those words held more weariness than bitterness in that moment.

"I insisted on coming myself," Frigga assured him, placing a tender hand on his forehead. "Your father-"

"_Not . . . _my father . . ." came the angry hiss.

"_Your father_," she emphasized, "would have sent Eir to tend to you, but I would not have it. My place is here, with you . . . and though it has been many years since I used my healing magic, it is by far stronger than any other in the Nine Realms – even more so than Eir's."

Loki would know more than most. Many times when he was a young boy, troubled with illness or hurts, Frigga had been the one to tend to him. And even Eir had said that the young Prince could have no better Healer by his side than his mother.

Frigga felt more than heard Loki sigh, his eyes closing once more as he sank deeper into the pillow. She felt a pang of regret; she knew her son was weary, and his _mother_ wished for nothing more than to let him rest and recover his failing strength. But his _healer_ knew that there was no time for rest; Frigga had taken enough time to comfort her son . . . now it was time to attempt to heal him.

"Loki," she whispered, laying her free hand on his bare shoulder. "I know you are weary, but I must examine the geas those monsters placed on you."

Loki groaned softly, pained lines crossing his haggard face.

"I-I need . . . more time . . ."

"I fear there is no more time, my son," she answered apologetically. "If the geas is allowed any more time to work, it may gain a foothold over you that not even I could undo."

There was a pause, the only sound the sickening noises made from Loki's breathing. Finally, he nodded – a motion almost imperceptible.

" . . . of course . . ."

Frigga turned back towards the vast mirror lining the wall behind her; though she could not see him, she knew her eldest son had remained in the room beyond, watching and waiting.

"Thor, come here, please," she said firmly. Though she knew most likely he could not hear her, she knew he would understand her meaning. An instant later the door to the healing chamber opened and the Crown Prince quickly stepped through.

"What is it, Mother?" he asked anxiously. "Can you heal him?"

"That is what I must discover. I need to examine the mark placed on your brother, but I cannot support him at the same time."

"What can I do to help?" Frigga smiled softly as Thor stepped closer. The events of the past few days apparently had not changed her son – he was still as eager as ever to help and protect his brother. The knowledge of Thor's love for Loki warmed her heart.

"Stand on the other side of the bed and help me sit him up. You will need to support him while I perform my examination."

Slowly and cautiously, Thor and Frigga worked together to first turn Loki on his side. But no matter how gently they touched him, every whisper of movement seemed to cause him pain – though he bit his lip and tried not to utter a sound. When they finally had him on his side Loki groaned and retched suddenly, dark scarlet blood finally allowed release from inside him. Frigga allowed him time to calm down, rubbing his back soothingly as he fought for breath. She noticed now that the horrible rattle in his chest had faded, and his breathing seemed clearer. Perhaps now he would be more at ease.

With Frigga murmuring instructions to him, Thor guided his brother into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the small whimpers of agony occasionally escaping from Loki's mouth. At last Loki was settled against his brother, his head resting on Thor's broad shoulder and Thor's arms gently but firmly supporting him.

There was an odd contraption strapped to Loki's lower back, and for a moment Frigga was puzzled as to its purpose. But then she was reminded of Loki's paralyzed legs and understood what the Midgardian healer had been attempting to do. Loki waiting patiently as Frigga worked to release the back brace. Finally, Frigga laid eyes on the runes carved into Loki's back.

She felt a momentary rush of sickening anger – how _dare _those monsters do this to her son! To etch the curse directly into his skin was cruelty and barbarism beyond anything she had ever seen before. These Chitauri would _pay_ for harming her dear son!

Pushing her rage aside, Frigga set to work examining the power of the geas. As her own magic worked, testing the strength of the curse, plucking here and there at its essence, Loki tried to remain still. But occasionally, when she tugged too hard or tried to separate the layers of magic, Loki would stiffen, a muffled groan lost against Thor's shoulder. Each time Thor's arms would tighten around his brother, soothing him back into a tense waiting, and Frigga would assure him that it would be over soon.

As the minutes turned into an hour, then two, Frigga felt the beginnings of an unwanted panic rising up from her stomach. No matter how she prodded, no matter how she pulled or tried to envelope the curse with her magic, the geas would not yield. It's filthy essence continued to cling to Loki's magic like a parasite, draining him of his health and power alike. She attempted one final probe, sifting to the very base of the curse itself, her magic glowing faintly against Loki's back –

Loki cried out suddenly as Frigga's magic snapped back in on itself. And with that final push, Frigga knew the truth – frightening and painful as it was.

The two of them eased Loki back down against the bed, as he no longer had the strength to guide himself back down. Loki's face was whiter than before, the examination having drained him of the last of his reserves. He hardly seemed alive anymore, eyes closed, his breathing shallow and labored.

"Well, Mother?" Thor demanded. "Can you remove it?"

Frigga sighed. How could she bear to say what needed to be said? How could she tell both of her sons that . . .?

Thor waited in expectation, his expression that of hopeful agony.

"I . . . yes, I can remove it. But . . . I fear I cannot do so now?"

"Why not?" Thor laid a large hand on Loki's shoulder, but he could not disguise the tremble in his fingers. "Mother, you must cure my brother! If you cannot, then no one can!"

"Thor . . . I _can_ remove it . . . but it will be dangerous."

"How so?"

Frigga sighed. She could not deceive her sons, even if it was to protect them.

"When the geas was placed, it's binding contained very specific spells, designed not simply to weaken your brother . . . but to kill him. Slowly, from the inside out. Once it was triggered, there was no way to stop it."

"Mother, _what are you saying?_" Thor cried angrily.

"If the geas is to be removed completely . . . then Loki must die."

* * *

_Author's Note__: CLIFFHANGER! I am so evil, I know! Don't worry, the next update will come soon, and with it will come answers. We are winding down here to the end of the story, people! Hope you liked this chapter – some of you wanted a bit more Loki whumpage, and I was inclined to agree. So . . . what do you think is going to come next? Will Loki die? Will Frigga find some way to keep that from happening? REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! :D_


	16. Flatline

_Chapter 16 – Flatline_

"So let me get this straight," Bruce growled at Frigga, arms crossed and a glare peering out behind his glasses. "The only way you can remove the curse that's killing Loki . . . is if he _dies?_"

They were all standing around Loki's bed in the Infirmary, listening to Queen Frigga's account of her findings. The room was big, but not big enough for five Humans, three Asgardians, and all of the medical equipment Bruce had been using to keep Loki alive. The result was rather claustrophobic. Tony had mentioned something about that when they all first came down there, muttering something about moving into the conference room so "we wouldn't have to sit in each others' laps." But Thor had been almost aggressively insistent that he would not leave his brother's side after Frigga had made her announcement. As for Frigga herself, even though she would not have left her youngest son for a moment, she had been trapped by the bedside by Loki's hand; he had not let go of her for almost thirty minutes now.

He had (almost) openly complained about the crowd of people in his room. In a weak, half-hearted growl, he had muttered to his mother something about there being too many people around him.

"Do you wish for them to leave?" she had whispered back, low enough that only Thor heard her. He had felt his heart constrict horribly at the thought of his brother wanting him to go away; he did not feel as if he could possibly abandon Loki now, now that he was –

Thor had clenched his teeth and fists, forcing back the terrifying thought, and waited for Loki to answer.

Loki's eyes had roamed dully over the assembled Avengers, his fingers tightening on his mother's hand.

" . . _. no_," he had finally whispered, and the tremble in his voice spoke to both his shattered pride and his overwhelming fear of being left alone.

Now Loki was resting limply against the bed, his fingers still entwined with Frigga's, seeming to drift in and out of a light sleep. But Thor could tell by the occasional twitch of his hand and the vague lines of worry and pain on his face that Loki was indeed still listening to their conversation.

Frigga sighed heavily, turning to face the doctor on the other side of the bed.

"Alas, Son of Banner, I fear it is so."

"Then what was the point of me trying to help him in the first place?!" Banner demanded in thinly-controlled anger.

In spite of his harsh words, it was clear to Thor that the doctor didn't mean them in that way. He was not regretting his decision to try to heal Loki, nor was he angry at any one person in particular. Thor knew Banner was simply distressed – distressed that all of his caring and selfless efforts to relieve Loki's suffering was all for naught.

"If not for your care," Frigga returned gently, "my son would have perished long ago . . . and I would never have seen his face again. Your efforts were not wasted, doctor, and I and all of Asgard will forever remain in your debt."

This seemed to calm Banner somewhat, and although he glanced up gratefully at Frigga, it did nothing to lessen the guilt and sorrow in his eyes.

"So . . . that's it? It's over?" Rogers spoke up worriedly. "There's nothing you can do to help him?"

"I did not say so," the Queen replied, shaking her golden head. "I said only that the geas cannot be removed so long as life remains within him."

"But what's the point of getting it off if Loki's dead?" Barton asked quietly. Thor was surprised to hear the worry in the archer's voice; only a day ago the human had seemed perfectly pleased with Loki's deteriorating condition . . . but ever since he had spoken privately with the God of Mischief, something had changed with Barton. He was more soft-spoken and even – dare Thor even think the word – sympathetic towards Loki's plight.

Perhaps he was finally letting himself see the truth behind Loki's villainy.

"I know not how to explain it to you in terms that you will understand," Frigga replied. "Magic is difficult for mortals to understand . . . and it is long since any of our people have had need to describe its workings. When the curse was placed upon my son, it carried with it certain spells and conditions that, if it was ever triggered, would drain both life and magic from his body as long as there was power there to feed off of. Once life leaves him, the geas' purpose will be fulfilled, and therefore its hold will loosen enough for me to remove it."

Loki's hands had begun to shake during her explanation, as if he was frightened of listening to the prospects of his demise from their mother. Thor knew this conversation should have taken place in another room, where it would not cause his brother distress, but Loki's unspoken – and perhaps unwilling – need for company made this impossible.

It hurt Thor terribly to see his brother so affected by the words of others . . .

"But like Clint says, Your Highness, what good is that going to do Loki if he's dead?" Stark interrupted.

Frigga looked temporarily at a loss for words, desperately searching for some way to explain why there might still be hope for Loki –

"Actually, that makes sense," Banner interrupted, finally looking up. The anger and frustration had cleared from his eyes, and he seemed suddenly much more calm and thoughtful.

Everyone's eyes turned to him, and his companions seemed just as bewildered as before . . . perhaps even more so.

"Uh . . . care to let the rest of us in on it?" Stark said, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

Banner took a deep breath, spreading his hands out in front of him.

"Ok . . . think of it like this. The geas can be compared to a parasite, and this particular species of parasite has a lethal toxin that is designed to kill the host, slowly and painfully. By doing so, it actually feeds the parasite and makes it want to take more. If you try to remove it, it sees the action as a threat and releases more of its toxin, killing its host faster. But if you try to treat the symptoms, it only prolongs the inevitable – and provides more energy for the parasite to feed from. The only way it will stop feeding and 'let go' of its host is if the host no longer has anything left to give it."

Banner looked around at all of them, and Thor could see comprehension dawning in each of their faces. The doctor continued.

"That's what's happening here; the geas first drained Loki of his magic, because his magic was the main reason Loki has been able to heal himself so quickly. Once that was depleted, it caused all of his new injuries to worsen – and all of his old injuries to reopen. And then there's the matter of him not being able to even talk about the Chitauri without his condition worsening – more than likely they designed the curse to agitate his condition, to prevent him from giving up any of their secrets. And the only reason the geas is _still_ working is because it somehow recognizes that there's still more life it has to drain out. If Loki . . . dies," he hesitated in using the word, noticing how it was distressing his patient, "then – and only then, will the curse loosen its hold enough for Frigga to remove it."

"But the fact remains that, geas or not, Loki will still be . . . you know . . ."

"Dead? Yes. But there's more than one kind of death."

"Death is death, Bruce," Clint spoke up, the tone of worry still in his voice, but tinged with his usual sarcasm.

"That's not true. There's permanent death - where there's no possible way of them ever coming back. That death is final, nothing you can do about it. But then . . . there's _clinical_ death, which is defined by the cessation of blood circulation and breathing. And _that's_ the kind of death I'm talking about – it's reversible . . . and it still provides a slim chance Loki can come back."

"Slim?" Thor interrupted, worried. He did not like the phrasing Dr. Banner was choosing to describe Loki's condition . . .

Banner sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in thought.

"Let's face it, Thor. Loki's been put through the wringer – first with all of what happened during his year with the Chitauri, then the invasion of Earth, and now this. There's already been a lot of internal damage, he's lost tremendous amounts of blood, and his fever is so high it's getting difficult to control it. Even if Frigga is able to remove the geas . . . there's a good chance we might not be able to bring him back."

Thor felt as if someone had doused him with cold water. But even as his fear rose to choke off his breath, his anger blazed hotter. How dare this man speak of his brother in this manner! Loki was not weak! He had fought through worse illnesses and injuries than those he was plagued with now. If there was a chance he could live, then live he would – if only out of stubbornness! He stepped protectively between Loki and the Avengers.

"I do not wish to discuss this any further in front of my brother," he growled angrily, but almost before he had finished he felt a hand tug feebly on the hem of his jacket.

" _. . . enough, Thor_," Loki rasped. Despite the weakness of his movements, his voice still held the caustic edge it always had. Master to the end. "_Let . . . let him speak . . . you know . . . nothing . . _."

Frigga was quick to soothe her son back into silence, then turned back to face Banner.

"Continue, please."

Banner hesitated for a few moments, his eyes flitting from Thor's angry, fearful glower, to Loki's half-open eyes that were watching him with a tired, clouded expression. After a moment, he continued, addressing the whole group.

"I don't really like Loki's chances of surviving this – they're slim at best – but I can't see any other way he can live. If we don't go through with Frigga's plan, he'll die anyway. At least if we attempt to resuscitate him, there's a chance he'll survive."

"How long does he have?" Stark asked grimly, glancing at the various machines scattered throughout the room.

"_Not long . . ._" Loki whispered, closing his eyes again.

"I . . . I honestly think he only has a few hours."

Thor's jaw clenched, and he unconsciously reached out a hand to squeeze his brother's shoulder reassuringly. To his surprise, Loki did not push him away, but chose instead to lean into him slightly.

"That being said," Banner continued. "If this is going to work, we need to plan this all out very carefully. If Frigga's theory is right, the minute Loki's heart stops, the curse should loosen its hold enough for it to be removed. During that time, we won't be able to do any amount of resuscitation, and Loki could only last so long without it."

"How much time are we talking about, exactly?" Rogers asked.

"No more than three minutes. After that, there's a high risk of tissue damage from lack of oxygen."

"It will take far less time than that for me to remove the geas," Frigga said confidently. "With my son unable to feel pain, it should take me no more than a few moments."

"The less time the better," Banner nodded. "We'll have to make sure we have everything set up ahead of time – the quicker we can restart his heart, the better the outcome will be. Obviously, I'm not going to be able to do this all by myself."

"How many people will you need?" Rogers mused, his arms held across his chest. The true leader he was, he was already strategizing.

Banner took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, thinking.

"I'll need one person for compressions, another for airway control, one for the cardiac monitor, and someone else for medications."

"So four little helpers for our resident medical genius," Stark quipped.

"And I want _trained medical professionals_," Banner insisted. "Running a Code is a lot harder than splinting a broken leg."

As their planning continued, Thor stood numbly beside Loki's bed, trying to wrap his mind around all of what was happening. Surely this was a nightmare, a terrifying dream that he would soon wake from . . .

The hopeful illusion shattered when he felt Loki's fingers brush against his hand.

* * *

They had prepared quickly.

Dr. Banner had been given several assistants, as he requested, and together they had quickly and efficiently prepared the necessary machines and medicines they would need to revive Loki. Once all was prepared, the other mortals left the room, leaving Frigga and Thor and Banner alone with the dying god.

And then they waited.

It had been torturous for Thor, to stand by and watch his brother suffer and strain to breathe and know that there was nothing he could do to comfort him. Loki had listened to their mother's account to the other Avengers quietly, the occasional tremble in his hands the only indication of the fear he must have been feeling. But now, with the room virtually empty once more, and as the heavy weakness of death slowly closed around him . . . his fear soon became evident.

As the hours passed, Loki's condition rapidly deteriorated. His face paled even further, becoming almost grey and transparent. The sheen of sweat from his fever became the cold, clammy sweat of fear. His movements became less frequent and more pained and feeble than ever, until he did not even have the strength to lift his hand.

Loki's temperature cooled to normal, and then kept decreasing. Thor could feel the chill begin in the hand he had held since their waiting began.

After a time they could hear a change in Loki's breathing. Starting low at first but gradually increasing in volume, a horrible rattling noise began deep in his chest. At times it seemed Loki was struggling to draw breath, as if he was being drowned slowly from the inside.

Frigga gently stroked Loki's forehead, speaking in a soothing voice whenever he would become too agitated. If not for her calming presence and quiet strength, Thor did not know how either he or Loki could have born it.

Dr. Banner remained constantly before his machines, informing them of changes in Loki's body in a soft, grim voice that did nothing to ease the agitation of either of the Asgardian brothers.

Suddenly, Loki's struggles seemed to become too much, and he began to feebly writhe on the bed, gasping for air. Not even Frigga's comforting hand had been enough to calm him, and the most heart-wrenching moans slipped through pale lips.

"Banner . . . can you not give him something to calm him?" Thor asked desperately, his eyes stinging with unfallen tears. The doctor looked just as grieved as he felt.

"Thor . . . anything I give him could just stop his breathing altogether," he murmured. Though he knew what must happen, he did not want to make it happen faster.

"Please, doctor . . . he is in pain and he is frightened," Thor begged, listening to the ghastly sound of Loki's breathing. "Please, just give him something to make him more comfortable!"

Banner hesitated, for the first time unsure of what to do. But after one glance at Loki's pained face, he reluctantly reached for another syringe of transparent medications. Within moments, he had delivered a small amount of pain medication into the tubing in Loki's arm.

Though it seemed to ease his pain, the medicine did nothing to improve Loki's breathing; the horrible, moist rattle continued unabated, but he ceased to struggle. His eyes were closing in both exhaustion and resignation.

" _. . . Thor . . _."

The God of Thunder felt his heart nearly leap out of his chest. He groped for the chilled hand that had been reaching for his.

"Yes, Loki. I am here."

He had to lean in almost next to Loki's mouth to catch the next words, whispered in a frightened, distant voice:

" _. . . I . . . don't want_-" He drew another painful breath. "-_don't want . . . to . . ._"

Thor let the tears he had been holding back course freely down his cheeks now.

"I know, brother . . . I know," he assured him, squeezing his hand. "But it will be over soon. Mother will free you from the curse and you will come back to us – alive and whole. All will be well."

"Heart rate's slowing down," Banner gently interrupted. "We're down to minutes now."

"_Thor . . _." Loki's fingers tightened on his hand, spastically. _" . . . please . . . d-don't leave . . _."

Thor leaned forward and gently pulled Loki's head against his shoulder, not bothering to stifle his own fearful weeping.

"I'm right here, brother. I will not let you go . . . it will be alright."

Thor felt the warmth of Loki's breathing against his cheek slow, growing fainter with every exhale. He shut his eyes and tried not to think of his little brother fading away in his arms . . .

" . _. . Brother . ._ ."

All at once – gently, softly – the warmth ceased. The cold hands fell limp against the bed.

The machines in the background let out a long, continuous noise . . .

And Thor knew Loki was gone.

"We have a flatline," Banner barked tersely. "Frigga – _NOW!_"

* * *

_Author's Note__: BAM! So much whump and suspense! I hadn't planned on the chapter ending like this . . . it just kind of happened. But fear not! Another update will be coming soon, I swear! Let me know what you guys think so far - just no cyber death threats please; after all, if I die . . . who will finish this story?! Lol! REVIEW! :D_


	17. A Second Chance

_Chapter 17 – A Second Chance_

Thor felt Loki's body wrenched from his embrace with a force that almost bordered on barbaric.

Frigga's hands swiftly and easily turned Loki's body on its side, her face set in grim determination. What had only hours ago been a task too difficult for her to accomplish alone, she now did with ease – as if Loki weighed no more than a feather.

An eerie glow surrounded her fingers as she reached for his lower back. With a sharp, tearing motion, Frigga wrenched something from the cold corpse that Thor could not see – but in the same instant Loki's body convulsed. There was a flash of sickly green light –

Entwined around her fingers was a black something, something that glowed and yet was darker than darkness itself.

"It is done!" Frigga shouted, letting the body fall back limp against the bed.

Banner's hand slapped at something on the wall – the "panic button" he had called it – and instantly an alarm began wailing frantically:

_"Code Blue, Infirmary Room 4. Code Blue, Infirmary Room 4"_

Instantly, the door burst open and the four healers rushed into the room, and Thor was gently but swiftly moved aside away from his brother. Frigga had already taken a step back, moving to stand beside Thor and taking his hand.

Thor observed the activity with numbed terror.

One man had his hands on Loki's chest, pushing with such force that Thor feared he would break ribs. Another healer had encompassed his mouth and nose with a strange device that seemed to breathe for the lifeless body. Thor could not understand the pattern to their movements, but he could do nothing but trust they knew what they were doing.

"Get him on the monitor! Compressions need to be a little faster, Lieutenant. You getting good chest rise?" Banner was calling out instructions to his assistants, his voice tense but controlled.

Thor tightened his grip on his mother's hand.

"Give 1 mg Epinephrine, STAT," the doctor ordered to the fourth healer, who had an array of strange vials spread out before them.

"1 mg Epinephrine – in," the healer responded, having rapidly injected one of the medicines into the tubing in Loki's arm.

"All will be well, Thor," Frigga whispered beside him. "We must have faith that the mortals can save your brother."

Thor nodded stiffly, unable to take his eyes away from Loki's pale, still face. Banner had sounded confident they could save him . . . but he could not forget how the doctor had used the word "slim" . . .

"We're at five cycles of compressions – let's stop and do a rhythm check," Banner motioned for the man pushing on Loki's chest to stop. For a few sickening seconds, all eyes were focused on the machine they had attached to Loki's chest. The line on the screen continued without any movement. "Still asystole, continue CPR. Ensign, draw up 40 units of Vasopressin and give right away. Draw up 1 mg of Atropine just in case, as well as another 1 mg of Epinephrine."

The assistant called back Banner's instructions as she injected yet another medicine and began to prepare the others. The man continued to compress Loki's chest without pausing, the strange device continuing to breathe into the lifeless body on the bed.

Thor began to panic. Surely his brother would have come back by now . . . why hadn't he recovered?

Another few minutes passed, and still there was no sign of life.

Banner had the healer give yet another medicine. Then they had said they could not get Loki to breathe properly, so yet another contraption was almost violently forced down Loki's throat.

Still there was no change.

_He's not coming back_, Thor's mind babbled. _He's not coming back, he's never coming back! He should have woken by now – Loki, please come back! Please . . .!_

But then –

"Hold it! Hold it! We've got a rhythm!"

All activity ceased, and Thor's heart seemed to stop as well.

Banner was peering at the screen in concentration for a few moments.

"Looks like a Normal Sinus Rhythm – " His hand went to Loki's neck, feeling for any spark of life.

_Please say he lives!_ Thor wanted to scream. _Please say he lives, say my brother will live . . .!_

Banner nearly sagged with relief.

"I have a pulse . . . good . . . _better_ . . . it's going."

"He's breathing on his own," one of the other healers reported, pausing in her efforts as well.

Sure enough, they could all see his chest rise and fall – strained and shallow, but Loki was breathing on his own.

Banner looked over at Thor and Frigga, anxiously waiting for his word –

He smiled.

"We got him back."

* * *

When Bruce entered the conference room, he was met by six anxious pairs of eyes – some much more so than others, and one doing very well in hiding her nerves.

Thor seemed nearly ready to explode with anticipation, Frigga was poised but still let her worry shine forth, Steve had the countenance of one waiting for terrible news, Tony had only stopped his pacing of the room when the door opened, and Clint's concern was mixed with a healthy dose of feigned apathy. Natasha was the only one in the room whose glance was more curious than anxious.

Bruce took a deep breath.

"He's alive. And he should stay alive for the foreseeable future."

The anxious tension that had filled the room suddenly vanished. Even Tony sagged a little in relief.

Thor leapt up from his chair.

"May I-"

Bruce nodded down the hall in the direction of the Infirmary.

"Go ahead, Thor. I'd feel better, anyway, if you were in there watching out for him."

Thor was out the door and practically running before Bruce had even finished.

The remaining Avengers kept their attention firmly on the doctor.

"Soooo . . ." Tony ambled back to a chair, "what's the news, Doc?"

Bruce took a deep breath, trying to steady his thoughts. It had been a stressful couple of minutes during the Code, and his hands still hadn't stopped shaking.

"So far, Loki seems to be doing alright. He's on a ventilator, a couple of antiarrhythmics to keep his heart rate steady, and under heavy sedations. But as of right now – and don't get your hopes up too high, Frigga – it looks like he's going to make it."

"He shall," Frigga replied firmly, a half-smile on her face. "With the geas completely removed from him, his magic and strength will return."

"How soon will that happen?" Steve asked her curiously. Frigga shook her magnificent head – almost sadly.

"That, friend Rogers, is something I cannot say for certain. It depends on many things – not least, on how hard my son intends to fight back to consciousness."

"Any idea when that will happen, Dr. Banner?" Fury asked – and it made everyone shift a little uncomfortably to hear the neutral, almost bored, tone of his voice. The Director of SHIELD apparently had not changed his mind about the Trickster god, in spite of everything that had happened up to that point.

Bruce spread his arms out a little helplessly.

"Fury, that's like asking me to predict the direction of the wind! There is no possible way I can know. Loki's gone through hell and back – maybe even literally, I don't know – and it's going to take a great deal of time before his injuries are healed enough for him to even get out of bed, let alone leave the Infirmary. It's way too soon to try and guess anything. We'll just have to wait until Loki regains consciousness."

He didn't say anything about how it took them almost ten minutes to revive Loki, or about how non-reassuring his vital signs still were, or about how in ordinary circumstances a patient in Loki's condition would need a massive blood transfusion to get his lab values back up to a safe level. He didn't say anything about how frightened the God of Mischief had been before he died, how Bruce had seen those blue-green eyes, clouded with pain and terror, had locked onto him for just a few moments – silently begging him to bring him back.

He also didn't say what Loki's final whispered word had been before he died –

No. It was better that no one else know any of that. Let Thor and Frigga believe and hope – and leave the worrying to the doctor.

* * *

Thor had never liked the healing wards on Asgard. Where he always had to sit and wait his turn to be checked over and healed when there were much more worthwhile things to be done. It had always seemed very pointless for him to be there.

Thor would accept a thousand such visits in exchange for never having to see Loki in a Midgardian healing room ever again.

The sounds alone drove him to distraction and concern. The faint chirps of the healing machines and the low humming of the large machines that allowed the entire ward to function. Squeaking footsteps in the halls outside and the tiny, creaking chair one of the healers had brought . . .

But even worse were the smells. Healing should smell of apples and strong herbs and the dry, bitter scent of healing stones. On Midgard it seemed to smell of harsh tinctures and pungent remedies, all of which sent his eyes to watering.

Worst of all, however, was the sight of his brother limp and helpless on the bed. He was so pale and so cold; the hand Thor held was just as chilled as it had been only an hour before, when Loki had clung to his hand and begged him not to leave his side –

Thor swallowed back the lump that came into his throat, refusing to shed more tears. His brother would recover – their mother seemed certain of that. And he could do no more than trust Frigga spoke the truth.

But her words spoken in comfort did little to ease the worry in Thor's mind. In spite of Banner's positive report and obvious relief, Loki still had not woken. He had not even moved one finger of his own accord since the breath of life returned to his body. He just . . . lay there, still and cold, the slow, uneven rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life Thor could discern.

He shifted uncomfortably as he glanced at his brother's face again. The healers had said the . . . the snake-machine in his mouth helped him to breathe but the very sight of it unnerved Thor even more than the needles and tubes and bloated clear bags hanging around him.

Healing should never evoke images of torture . . .

He shook his head sharply, forcing the thought from his mind.

Thor barely acknowledged the young healer who stepped in to check Loki, glancing at the machines and adjusting them ever so slightly.

Though he knew the woman was only doing her duty, Thor felt a surge of irritation. There were still too many people in the room, too much chaos and noise. If Loki was to heal, he needed rest and silence – not the continued and constant intrusion of strange hands.

The healer must have seen him tense, because she looked down at him almost curiously.

"Everything alright?" she asked. Her soft voice reminded Thor of Eir, the master healer from Asgard.

"I wonder . . . you say my brother is recovering?"

"Slowly, but yes," she answered simply, nodding her head. Her confirmation emboldened him.

"Then I . . . would it be possible for my brother and I to be left alone?"

The healer opened her mouth, clearly about to protest. But she hesitated, glancing back at Loki's unconscious form, and seemed to consider. After a moment, she nodded reluctantly.

"I guess that would be alright. He's stable enough for now, and we'll be able to monitor his condition from the other room. But if he wakes up, try to keep him calm and still."

Thor nodded, acknowledging her instructions, and settled his chair closer to the bed.

Slowly the room emptied, until the two brothers were left alone, the silence broken only by the soft noises of the healing contraptions and the faint, uneven whispers of Loki's breathing.

How he wished Loki would wake, simply open his eyes . . .

And he wondered, also, what would happen when he did.

Loki had been very open and almost affectionate with Thor during his last hours, and Thor had felt a twisted, almost sick twinge of pleasure at that. He was pleased Loki sought his company while he was suffering, but at the same time pained that it had to come at such a high cost.

That final word Loki had whispered in his ear as he held his fading form in his arms . . . that last breath had been spoken with a depth of feeling Thor had not heard since . . . since before Loki fell from the Bifrost, before everything had gone wrong.

And how would he behave now, now that he was no longer dying, now that there was no longer any fear of the Chitauri's hold over him? Would he remember their shared bond, forged over thousands of years and thousands of battles and struggles and arguments and brotherly affection? Or would he retreat into the hard, bitter shell he had worn like a garment for the past few weeks? Thor did not know if his heart would survive if Loki chose the latter; he feared he might shatter into tiny shards and never become whole again.

But that last word had given him a tiny sliver of hope, hope he had not felt for over a year. A hope that, beneath the caustic words and anger and spite and heartbreak, Loki still truly saw Thor as his brother.

_"The opposite of love is not hate, but rather apathy."_

Thor was not certain where he had heard that phrase spoken before, but he clung to it as it sprang to his mind.

He thought back on all of the events of these past few weeks, on all of Loki's angry words and horrible deeds. It struck him in that moment that, in spite of all Loki had said and done, how forcefully he tried to remind the God of Thunder that they were not brothers and how he wished nothing more for Thor to die . . . he had never followed through on his threat. He had tried to kill him in that glass cage he sent plummeting through the sky . . . but Thor remembered his hesitation, how his hand had hovered over the lever for a few moments. As if he was suddenly having second thoughts . . .

He thought about the incident on Stark Tower, when they had fought hand to hand. Loki could have killed him then, with a throwing knife or impaling him with the scepter or even just flung him off of the Tower completely . . . but instead he chose to continue to spar with him. There had been hesitation in his eyes then as well.

He thought about the following conversations they had had since Loki had been injured, he thought and thought and thought and _what was the use of thinking?!_ Why was he insisting on hoping for something that might never come true? Why was he trying _so hard_ to believe in Loki and believe he truly did care for him?

_Because . . . because he is my brother – by blood or not. And I wish nothing more than for him to . . . to come home._

Thor sighed, blinking back the stinging in his eyes.

"Brother . . . I have much to answer for," he murmured softly, knowing Loki could not hear him. "Though your actions were inexcusable, perhaps some of it might have been prevented by me. I swear to you, Loki . . . in spite of everything that has happened – and whatever will happen now – I will never give up on you; perhaps someday, you will understand why I choose to call you brother."

The hand held in his own twitched.

It was not much, but it was enough to send Thor's heart soaring into his throat. He leaned closer eagerly.

"Loki? Can you hear me?"

Another twitch, stronger this time. Loki's chest began rising and falling at a faster rate, faint lines furrowing his brow as he struggled back to consciousness.

It suddenly occurred to Thor that, although Loki knew he would be brought back to life, no one had said anything about _how_ they would do it . . .

The machines along the wall began to chirp louder, faster. Loki's movements became more than just twitches, and there was a low wheezing emanating from his throat.

"Brother, calm yourself. You are safe, the mortals brought you back-"

But it was clear that Loki was no longer listening to him. Still under the influence of mortal medicines and with that thing down his throat, his brother was beginning to panic.

Before Thor could even turn around, the door opened and the healers came rushing back into the room, and he was gently but firmly pried away from the God of Mischief.

Knowing his presence would only interfere with their work, Thor chose to step out for a moment. Once Loki was calm, he would speak to him again.

* * *

It was almost an hour before anyone came to get him.

Thor had sat out in the small waiting area beside the healing room, staring at his hands and trying not to listen to what was happening with his brother. But he heard anyway, in whispered snatches from the guards conversing with the healers as they came and went. Apparently when Loki had awakened fully, surrounded by strangers and unable to speak, his fear had been quite profound. He managed to remove some of the equipment before they could stop him – "self-extubated" was a phrase that he heard mentioned several times. He had no idea exactly what that meant, but seeing as how it left the healers frustrated but slightly bemused, Thor did not let it worry him.

Finally, he was disturbed from his thoughts when he saw a pair of booted feet halt at the top of his vision. He looked up to see one of the healers standing before him.

"He's asking for you," she said simply, nodding back towards the healing room door.

He leapt to his feet, hope blazing in his mind.

"He wishes to see me?"

"Well, not in so many words," she corrected, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Once we got him calmed down we mentioned that you were waiting outside to see him. I asked if it was alright if you came back in and . . ." here she chuckled. "Well, he had a couple of nasty names for you . . . but he didn't outright say he _didn't_ want to see you. And given it's _Loki_ we're talking about, I think that's as much of an invitation as he'll give anyone."

Thor was not certain if he should be happy or concerned by this news. But he decided to err on the side of hope – as always.

"Whenever you're ready," she said kindly, laying a hand on his arm and stepping away.

Thor took a deep breath and braced himself (_Do not become too hopeful. One cannot expect someone like Loki to change in an hour_) and pushed the door open.

* * *

_Author's Note__: Come on, you guys didn't REALLY think I'd get rid of Loki permanently, did you? I'd be seriously insane if I got rid of my favorite character EVER. Lol! I'm kind of proud of the beginning of this chapter, only because I got to let my professional knowledge shine through. I really wanted to portray a Code as it REALLY happens - not the fake stuff you see on TV. After all, CPR doesn't stand for Clean Pretty and Relaxing. Lol! I'm thinking there will only need to be two or three chapters left in this story - we're getting close to its resolution. But who knows? That can always change. ;) Don't forget to review!_


	18. Redemption

_Chapter 18 – Redemption_

The room was eerily empty compared to only an hour ago.

Thor hovered on the threshold, feeling suddenly unsure of himself. The healer had said Loki was asking about him . . . but he had neglected to inquire as to exactly _why_ he was asking for him. The childish side of him was hoping that his brother wished for his company because he was beginning to understand that Thor would never turn him away . . . but that cynical little voice in the back of his mind whispered that the Trickster may have simply wished to spurn him once again.

And so he waited, with the door half open, watching the God of Mischief carefully.

Loki was, unbelievably, sitting up in bed, propped up against the headboard by several pillows. His eyes were closed, skin still pale as ever, but even in the harsh light of the healing room Thor could see a hint of color creeping back into his face. The long, elegant fingers rested on his lap, no longer twitching. The intrusive noises were all but gone, the healing machines no longer being used. All that was left was the single needle Dr. Banner had left under his skin from the start.

It was a relief to see his brother looking . . . almost normal again.

Normal, that is, except that he was still far too thin, bruises and cuts still visible in stark contrast to his pallor.

Somehow, Thor knew it would be a long recovery for his brother.

"Either come in or leave, Thor," Loki snapped, his eyes still closed. "Hesitation never suited you."

Thor took a few slow steps forward, letting the door close quietly behind him. He tried to ignore how his stomach twisted at hearing the broken, raspy voice that had only days before been strong and cold and calculating . . . he would almost rather hear that then this unfamiliar voice.

"Were . . . were you asking for me?" he began uncertainly. Loki's demeanor was hardly welcoming.

Loki snorted derisively.

"I was merely inquiring as to why your intrusive presence was absent. Your almost obscene insistence on getting in everyone's way seems to be second nature to you."

Perhaps Thor heard more than what Loki's words were saying. Perhaps he merely imagined the slight tremor in that voice, the caustic words hiding something akin to hurt beneath the surface. It almost sounded as if Loki was angry with him for abandoning him when he had woken from death.

Perhaps it was only foolish hope . . . but he chose to hear it that way.

"I did not wish to leave, Loki," he replied, coming a few steps closer. "But neither did I wish to interfere with the healers in reviving you. My presence did not seem to bring much comfort to you."

"So at last you are showing some discernment," Loki smirked, finally opening his eyes and fixing his gaze on the ceiling. "It seems miracles are still possible."

Thor frowned as he looked at his brother closer. His appearance was haggard, worn, looking as if he had survived a lengthy illness rather than just a week of injury. His eyes were brighter than they had been; but there was still a glassy sheen to them, not quite their full unnerving intensity. And they were sunken in, dark circles like bruises making him appear more exhausted than he sounded. His hair hung limp and disheveled about his shoulders, and his breathing still appeared to strain him. Even his lips were still pale and dry, though they were now curled up slightly in a sneer instead of pressed tightly together in pain.

"If you wish it, brother, I will leave," Thor offered.

Loki did not reply immediately, but instead kept his eyes focused on the far corner of the ceiling.

"What do you want, Thor?" he growled finally.

The childish side of Thor leapt for joy inside at hearing those words. Loki was clearly still angry with him . . . but he had not told him to leave.

Progress, perhaps.

"I . . . I wish nothing more than to simply talk with you, Loki."

"And what is there to discuss?" he snapped, finally meeting his gaze. "Midgard has been saved, my villainy has been fully exposed to my enemies, and soon I will no longer be an invalid. We both know what that means – or do I guess wrongly to suppose that the vaunted Nicholas Fury wishes to continue to hold me prisoner?"

It was the longest speech Loki had yet made, and it set him to coughing. Not having used his voice properly for days now, as well as having that contraption ripped from his throat, had made his voice much more fragile than before. Thor winced in spite of himself. He had hoped their conversation would take a . . . less volatile direction.

"He has . . . but your fate has not yet been decided. Mother was still speaking with him when I departed."

"Typical," Loki wheezed when he had got his breath back. "Even after thousands of years, my fate is still being decided for me."

"I did not wish to talk of that, Loki," Thor responded, taking his seat beside the bed. "I do not wish to talk of the war, or the Chitauri, or the Avengers or Midgard or anything of that sort."

"What is there to talk about, then?" Loki sneered, shifting ever so slightly away from Thor.

"I . . . why can we not speak as we once did? As brothers, long ago . . . the way it used to be . . ."

Loki's brow furrowed in . . . was that sadness? Or just confusion?

"You seem convinced that things _can_ go back to the way it used to be," he murmured, looking down at his hands.

"And why not?" Thor insisted. "Why can we not return to what we once were-?"

"You are asking for the impossible, Thor!" Loki raged. "Nothing can be what it once was! Not now that we're no longer ignorant to the All Father's lies –"

"Do not speak ill of father, please, brother," Thor insisted, only slightly angered. He supposed he could not begrudge the Trickster his bitterness towards Odin; he might have done the same, if their places were reversed.

"When will you get it into your thick head?" Loki spat, twisting away painfully. "_I am not your brother!_ I never was! So stop insisting on something that will never be!"

"And when will _you_ realize that family is not tied to blood alone?" Thor snapped, finally losing his temper. "If I _am_ insisting on it, as you seem convinced I am, it is only because I know that my feelings for you will never change – no matter your heritage! We were raised together! We called each other brother since we were children! Why do you now wish to throw all of that away, simply because you feel you no longer belong with us?"

Thor's anger evaporated into sheer horror and embarrassment. What had he just said? He had no right to speak to Loki in that way, brother or not.

For one wild moment Loki's eyes blazed with hatred, and Thor feared he would order him out of his room. But he blinked – and suddenly the hatred was gone, replaced by something colder, more distant . . . and almost sad.

"You still think they will take me back." It was a statement, not a question. Thor stared at Loki in bewilderment, and then Loki slowly began laughing. But instead of it being derisive and acidic – as he no doubt intended – it merely sounded hollow and empty, and ended with another round of harsh, dry coughing. "Your naiveté never ceases to amaze me, Thor. Have you forgotten your coronation? The Destroyer? Jotunheim? Do you honestly think Odin and Frigga will allow me to set one foot back in the palace? Oh, of course Frigga will shower me with pity and feigned affection while here on Midgard . . . but what will happen once I'm taken back, as we both know will happen eventually? You think they will still claim me as their son? You think they will welcome me with open arms, saying all is forgiven and forgotten? No king would ever wish to have a traitor for a son."

Thor momentarily felt at a loss for words. Of course none of that had been forgotten! But he knew in his heart that Odin would sooner die than abandon either of his sons . . .

"Father was devastated. Did you know that?" he murmured quietly. Loki stiffened, brow furrowed in a frown, but for the first time since he entered the room Thor knew he had Loki's full attention. "I had never seen him so despondent and grieved as he was after you fell. He blamed himself for your death; I have lost count of the times he spoke with me, telling me how he wished he had never kept the truth from you. He had wished for nothing more than for you to simply believe him when he said he cared for you . . . but by doing so it seemed he had driven you even further away. He . . . he told me if he had but reached the Bifrost sooner . . . if he had only reached out just a bit further . . . "

Loki had turned away from him, his gaze locked on his fingers as they twisted into the sheets. Thor pushed on.

"Mother could not even attend your funeral. She left after only twenty minutes, and I found her in your rooms . . . weeping. Mother has always been strong, but it was the first time I ever saw her like that. You know you were always her favorite . . . and when I returned to Asgard only a day ago she insisted on coming with me herself; she would not listen to reason – she told me that you had been taken from her once, and she would not lose you again."

Loki's hands were visibly trembling now, and his face was still turned away . . . but his shoulders were shaking.

"You have a family that loves you, Loki," Thor went on, finally taking Loki's hand in his. "We care not for who your birth parents were, the paths you have taken or the choices you will make in the future. You are a Son of Odin . . . and nothing – _nothing_ – will ever change that."

A brittle stillness settled over the two Asgardians. Thor continued to hold that cold, shaking hand, wishing that Loki would look at him, or say something, or do anything other than simply sit in barely-controlled silence.

"So tell me, brother . . . do I really hope for the impossible?" he asked gently.

"I'm not your brother, you insufferable buffoon," Loki whispered, still staring at the opposite wall.

But he did not withdraw his hand.

* * *

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wishing for one of two things: either that he could somehow sneak away from this argument, or that a bottle of scotch would somehow miraculously materialize on the table in front of him.

Frigga and Fury had been going at it for what seemed like hours – although a quick glance at the clock nearby showed it had only been twenty minutes. Tony wondered how Fury could have the guts to talk the way he was towards Frigga. Anybody else would have simply soiled themselves under that forceful stare, but Fury seemed to have nerves of steel . . . and an ego the size of Jupiter.

"I am insulted that you would demand such a thing of me, Nicholas," Frigga said evenly. Her words may have been spoken in a calm voice, but her eyes were burning with an anger she could not fully express. (Tony was glad of that – he had a feeling that a fully pissed-off Frigga could snap the Helicarrier like a twig.) "After everything that has been discussed, after everything that has happened right before your eyes, you would still treat my son as if he was nothing more than a common criminal."

"With all due respect, Frigga, he _is_ a criminal," Fury replied, his one good eye locked stubbornly on the woman in front of him. "Only a week ago he was hell-bent on destroying New York and making himself dictator of Earth – nothing's changed since then, and I see no reason to extradite him."

"Even knowing what you know now what you did not then? That Loki was coerced into aiding the Chitauri? That he was never the master behind the plan?"

"He made his choices. He could have refused to work with them and suffered the consequences. But he opted for the easy way out."

"Torture's easy to dismiss if it's not happening to you," Tony muttered to himself. The other two didn't hear him, and their argument continued unabated.

"_What more do you want from my son?_" Frigga snapped, slamming her hand on the table and making everyone in earshot jump. "Is your hatred of him so great that you would punish him still for his crimes? He has suffered enough!"

"Every criminal has to pay for his crimes!" Fury replied heatedly.

"He _has_ paid! With his _LIFE!_ Is that not what you mortals call 'capital punishment'? Or do you wish him to die a thousand times before you are fully satisfied?"

Tony was inclined to agree with Frigga on this one. As far as he was concerned, Loki had atoned for his sins against Earth. Not many people would willingly sacrifice themselves – even to the point of death – to make up for a mistake they made. Because it was obvious to everyone that that's what happened. As wrong as it sounded, Loki had in a way become the hero by opening himself up to further torture and eventual death in order to free himself and Earth from the control of the Chitauri.

Of course, not many criminals would have died and then come back to life . . . but that was a whole other kettle of fish.

Fury's jaw was set in a tight line but he said nothing. Even he couldn't argue with that kind of logic. After a minute or two of hard staring, he finally found his voice.

"Even so, the Chitauri are still out there. Loki is the only one who knows their weaknesses and strengths, information that could become invaluable to us in the event of another invasion – "

"And if that time ever comes, the All Father and I will see to it that Loki is returned to deliver what information he is willing to give. I know my son, Nicholas; you will never be able to force his cooperation – merely holding him here will do nothing but give you sleepless nights . . . and innumerable lost arguments."

That was the closest thing to a joke that Tony had heard her say. He covered up his chuckle with a polite cough.

"I fear you will be given no choice, Director," Frigga continued, turning her back on Fury. "Loki will be surrendered to us as soon as he is well enough to leave Dr. Banner's care. Accept this decision and you will have the gratitude of Asgard. Refuse us . . . and the Chitauri will be the least of your worries."

The smug laughter that had been playing in Tony's throat now evaporated, leaving a cold shiver in its wake. There was no mistaking the meaning of Frigga's words; if Fury flat-out told her "no," then it would mean all-out war between Earth and Asgard – and if handling Thor was too much at times, Tony couldn't imagine what it would be like trying to stop a thousand more just like him.

Fury seemed to consider this. Finally, he nodded.

"Very well. As soon as Dr. Banner's medically cleared him, Loki will be handed over to the custody of Asgard . . . but only on one condition."

"And what is that, Nicholas?" Frigga asked, turning back to face him.

"When – not _if_ but _when_ – the Chitauri return, you will guarantee Loki will be returned to Earth to provide us with the information we need in order to survive."

Frigga nodded elegantly.

"Your terms are accepted, Director. And I can assure you of this: if Midgard is ever threatened by the Chitauri, Asgard will stand by you should you wish it. We will provide whatever support you will need to repel a second invasion. But if Loki ever returns to Midgard, you will treat him as a fellow warrior and ally – no longer as a criminal. Agreed?"

Fury didn't look too happy about it, but he nodded anyway. He was smart enough to know when he was in a fight he couldn't win.

"And what's going to happen to Loki when you do go back to Asgard?" Steve spoke up. "I'm assuming you guys won't just let him run free like before."

Frigga sighed, the anger disappearing from her face.

"Alas, no, it cannot be so. Loki's crimes against Midgard have been paid for . . . but he has still much to atone for on Asgard. He nearly incited war between Asgard and Jotunheim, plotted to assassinate Odin as he slept, even if that was merely to deceive Laufey. The All Father cannot allow such sins to pass unpunished. There will doubtless be a trial, and the end result will most likely be imprisonment below the palace. Odin has not the stomach to punish his son more than that . . . but perhaps Loki's experiences here on Midgard will teach him something further correction cannot." She smiled sadly. "Loki has ever been of a stubborn nature."

"Guess that's one thing he and Thor have in common," Tony smirked. Frigga's smile widened.

"Indeed, Man of Iron; in that respect, Thor and Loki have ever been truly brothers." She turned back to Fury. "I will remain on Midgard until I am certain my son will make a full recovery, however long that may take. But I will entrust my eldest son to return both him and the Tesseract to Asgard. No, Nicholas," she stopped Fury before he could protest. "The Tesseract is a relic of Asgard, and it possesses powers that no mortal can control. For the safety of all the Realms, it must be returned to its rightful place in the Weapons Vault. I will accept no argument on this matter, either."

The room fell silent again. Tony felt a small sigh slip out of him before he could stop it. So that was it. It was over. The invasion was halted, Loki was healing, and the source of SHIELD's pride and joy was going to be taken away from them. _Good riddance,_ Tony thought to himself. That much power in the hands of an organization like SHEILD . . .? Yeah, that's a wonderful idea.

But the timing of all of this depended on the speed of Loki's recovery. And Tony knew they had no way of knowing how long that would take.

He smirked. It was going to be another interesting couple of days.

* * *

_Author's Note:__ This chapter came to me so fast that I just HAD to post it ASAP. My brain wouldn't let me sleep last night until I'd finished this part - sometimes it stinks having a creative mind; it interferes with normal things like sleep. Lol! Anyways, what did you guys think? Please continue to review! :D_


	19. Homeward Bound

_Chapter 19 – Homeward Bound_

Loki's recovery was remarkably fast . . . but apparently not fast enough for him.

For the first two days the Trickster god slept almost constantly, waking only when Bruce would come to check on him or when the pain prodded him out of his sleep. It was obvious Loki was still hurting, but he always vehemently protested to the contrary whenever he was asked. But aside from his patient's very cranky attitude, Bruce was encouraged. Loki's fever had not returned since they brought him back, and he was not coughing up blood as often as he was before. The visible cuts and bruises slowly started to heal, fading gradually into faint scars. His broken leg was mending itself at an incredible rate; Bruce started to regret their having to send the god back to Asgard – from a medical standpoint Loki's physiology was amazing, and he wished he could study him more. But somehow he figured Loki would not take too kindly to being asked to stay as a lab experiment.

Thor hovered around the Infirmary as much as he was allowed, and although Loki threatened to have him thrown out of the room if he didn't stop babying him, he never expressly told him to leave him alone. And Thor – ever optimistic – saw this as a good sign. The Thunderer observed the healers going in and out of the room, tending to his brother with a patience that was enviable. Thor did not know how many healers back on Asgard that would have had the fortitude to endure Loki's constant taunts and bitter remarks. It was an encouraging sign that his brother was indeed healing well.

And when he heard that Loki nearly kicked a healer in the face when she got too close to him, it actually made Thor smile for the first time in weeks.

Loki's health quickly returned as his magic grew in strength. Before long, Bruce was able to remove the back brace, allowing Loki to stretch his legs properly. Thor watched through the one-way mirror as his brother tested the newly mended muscles, noticing how he still grimaced if he pushed himself too far or moved too quickly.

After four days, Bruce was finally convinced that Loki did not need to be confined to his bed. But, much to Loki's extreme displeasure, he would not let him get up without assistance. The God of Mischief violently refused to have any "mortal" assist him with something so mundane as walking, as he considered it an insult to his pride. Bruce had finally thrown his hands up in frustrated surrender and gone to Thor.

"Just make sure he doesn't hurt himself again. I don't know if I could handle having to heal him all over again," he had grumbled.

Thor gladly accepted Dr. Banner's advice. It would give him more time with his brother before . . . before they would need to return home.

If only Loki would see it that way.

* * *

"If I had wished to be _mothered_, Thor, I would have asked for her!"

When would this tiresome fool realize that Loki did not need help – nor did he _want_ it? He had (somehow) managed to survive his captivity with the Chitauri without the aid of his so-called brother, and he could certainly survive walking the ten paces it took to cross this tiny room without assistance. If there was anything Loki hated more than defeat, it was being babied against his will.

But Thor was just as thick as always, refusing to let Loki walk without one hand on his arm.

It was why Loki was now resting on the edge of his bed; two hours of protestations had left him tired both physically and mentally.

"Mother was needed back home, Loki," Thor answered, watching him carefully. "I am afraid you will have to make do with the care of a brother."

"I am afraid I will have to make do with _nothing_, as I see no brother here."

Loki could not understand how such a caustic statement could lead to the pleasure he saw on the Thunderer's face. Thor's wide smile rankled against Loki's desire to be left to himself.

"So it's back to this now? Do you not remember claiming me as such only days ago?"

Loki did not answer him at first, almost refused to answer him at all. _ It had been but a moment of weakness . . . nothing more_

"The words of the dying are hardly something to be trusted in," he finally said.

Never mind that a dying man's last words are often the most tru-

Loki banished that thought with a shake of his head.

Thor sighed heavily.

"Regardless, I shall choose to take the word to heart and hope your own shall remember as well."

Loki forced out a harsh laugh.

"Sentimental as always," he growled, sliding himself forward on the bed until his feet touched the floor once more. Fighting against a new wave of dizziness, he pushed himself away from the bed to stand. He held back a wince as the pins and needles pricked their way up his legs, the still-healing nerves protesting at the continued abuse.

His progress in this matter was frustratingly slow, to his mind. It was not as if he had forgotten how to walk, how nerves and muscles were supposed to work together to bear his own weight and move him across the room . . . but his _legs_ apparently had forgotten. For no matter how hard he tried, he could not force himself to take more than two or three steps without stumbling.

He needed to be patient, he was constantly reminding himself. But he did not know how much longer he would be able to tolerate this shameful weakness in front of his enemies.

"You are making remarkable progress, Loki," Thor said encouragingly as Loki tried an experimental step. "It will not be long before we shall be able to return home once more. There are some in Asgard that will rejoice at your recovery."

Loki snorted derisively, trying to cover up the twinge of dread he felt deep inside him. Going home . . .

"If you refer to the Blundering Three or the Ice-hearted-"

"No, brother," Thor interrupted. He had a strange look in his eyes when he said this. "I speak of one who has longed for word of your survival. One who refused to believe you dead and so has refused other suitors."

All of Loki's focus shifted.

His legs shifted as well, but his feet managed to not receive the command.

As his world tilted he threw his arms out, reaching for something, _anythin_-

Immediately his hands hit the hard metal of an arm brace.

Despite the twinge of humiliation-fear-don't-you-dare-say-a-word that spiked through him, Loki dug his fingers in tighter as he forced the spinning to stop and his feet to obey him again.

He tried not to let Thor's statement affect him. He WOULD not let his words strike. Thor was not the master of words, that title belonged solely to-

"What?"

The single breathless word escaped before Loki could stop it, censor it, and break it up into a long diatribe of meaningless sounds.

"She is still waiting for you, brother."

Thankfully Thor chose to respond to his question and not his unbalanced awkward position.

Loki would not have to curse him. At least not yet.

Regardless, once Loki had his balance again he snatched his hands back, pushing Thor's arms away from him.

"I suppose then I _must_ go home after all. If what you say is true then it must be the greatest bit of gossip in centuries."

Loki saw Thor practically deflate, his smile dimming.

"You are not happy by such news? That your betrothed has not set aside the contract for one living and present?"

"Enough Thor. I will speak no more of this. And neither will _you_.'

"Bu-"

"If you wish to be an old woman and talk of it, then you can wait until you are back on Asgard. I will unfortunately be unable to silence you there."

Loki balanced himself on his left leg as he slowly slid the other foot across the smooth floor. Merely moving his legs and keeping his balance took all his concentration, and so he had no chance to think on everything Thor had just told him.

He forced it into a corner of his mind, something to dwell on and turn to his advantage at some later time he knew would be spent watching blank stone walls . . .

Thor hovered beside him every step of the way . . . and much to his own chagrin, Loki found he did not really mind.

* * *

To everyone's surprise (or perhaps to nobody's surprise) Loki hardly put up a fight when it was time for him to accompany Thor to Asgard. Or rather, he didn't complain until Thor brought forth the metal contraption made specifically for traitors who wielded magic.

He had taken exception to that action . . . and the spells he'd tossed around were actually rather impressive, especially that one which made the ceiling start raining funky-smelling jello (Tony still had bits stuck in his hair).

Once again it took a combined effort from the assembled heroes to take down their enemy. Once again they triumphed.

But the unusual colors which their skin and hair would turn over the next month proved that triumph over a Trickster was never truly _winning._

Several hours later, the team stood in Central Park, waiting for the oldest of the alien-god brothers to finish up his goodbyes. Fury had worked his magic again (Tony was convinced that patch hid something otherworldly, the man was too good at what he did for him to believe otherwise) and managed to empty out the park of prying eyes, as the Tesseract apparently needed a wide open space to create a portal back. (Central Park _empty?_ Just more evidence for Tony's new theory).

"I'm probably gonna regret saying this . . . but I'm almost gonna miss the guy," Tony mused aloud.

The Super Soldier next to him nodded slightly in agreement. On the other side of Steve, Bruce sighed.

"I just hope he's treated well. I mean . . . I _know_ he's the villain, but for a while he was also my patient . . . and I just can't forget that."

A little bit removed from the sympathetic trio Clint let out a short bark of laughter. Tony watched him lean over and whisper to Natasha.

"Should we be worried about him?" Steve sounded concerned. Both Tony and Bruce gave their archer a long look.

"He's been through quite a bit . . ." Bruce finally said.

"Yeah, but he's still being kinda jerky about all this," Tony growled, shooting a glare at the SHIELD agents.

"He hasn't tried to kill _or _harm Loki this whole time though. Whatever Clint's problem is, I think he's handling it about as well as we can expect anyone to."

"And what about Na-"

Tony's snort cut Steve off.

"Yeah, I went and tried to figure her out after Ol' Saint Nick had her pulling guard dog duty on me . . . _Still_ haven't got her pegged."

They didn't have a chance to say anything else, as Thor walked up then. Loki – muzzled and chained – followed behind.

"Hey! Here comes the walking, talking caveman himself! _Ow!_ What was _that_ for?" Tony glared at the man next to him, who had just jabbed him with an elbow, a _super-strong_ elbow at that. He noticed that while Thor continued along with a smile threatening to break over his stern frown, Loki's eyes danced with slight humor. Either at the deprecatory remark or the infliction of pain, Tony wasn't quite sure.

"We wish you both a safe journey." Steve, he noticed, went for the polite route. Good ol' Stars and Stripes, the answer to the world's issues, blah blah blah . . .

"Thor, let me know if anything goes wrong with Loki. I know I may not be able to do much, but I would really appreciate knowing . . ." Bruce was visibly concerned and Tony caught Loki rolling his eyes dramatically behind Thor's back.

"I thank you for your concern, friend Banner," Thor replied with more feeling in his voice than any of the Avengers had yet heard him use. "Your care for my brother shall never be forgotten – and I will consider myself forever in your debt for saving his life." He held out a hand and shook Bruce's warmly. After a shy smile at the God of Thunder, Bruce tilted his head to look around Thor's shoulder.

"Take care of yourself, Loki," he called quietly.

The Trickster's eyes had a different expression in them now. No longer amused or even irritated, they were almost . . . embarrassed. Everyone present caught the way Loki's eyes slid away from Bruce's, as if he didn't want to meet his gaze. A short, almost twitch-like nod was the only response he was allowed.

It was as close to a thank-you that Loki had ever made.

And of course, Tony had to completely ruin it.

"And _behave_," he called lightly. "I don't think Daddy would let you off with just a spanking next time if you tried this agai– OW!" _That_ jab was sure to leave a nice big bruise against his ribs.

There was no time for another rebuttal, for without another word, Thor turned his back to his comrades and faced his silent brother. He held out the funky cylinder Dr. Selvig had given him to contain the Tesseract between the pair of them, the unspoken order plainly expressed in the stern look he gave Loki. The Trickster hesitated for only a moment before grabbing onto the offered end with an angry, almost disdainful expression.

Thor looked around at the Avengers, a smile now almost breaking through his stern look, and nodded his thanks.

Tony felt a twinge of . . . something, deep inside his gut. Sadness? Nope. Tony Stark didn't get emotional over anything. But still, he had to admit to himself that he was actually going to miss Point Break.

A lever on the device was activated, and in a whirl of blue sparks and wind and noise that could only be described as _magical_ (and Tony hated using that word now), Thor and Loki were engulfed in an unseen force and whisked away.

The light show fizzled out and the remaining Avengers were left to look around awkwardly.

"So . . . what now?" Captain Obvious finally asked.

After a few more seconds of listening to the crickets practically write their own symphony, Tony turned and began walking toward Fifth Avenue.

"I don't know about you, but I saw this really weird-looking restaurant back that way a few days ago. They had something _blue _in there, I swear! I'm gonna check it out."

A moment later Bruce stepped out to follow, then Steve.

Clint and Natasha shared a glance, Clint shrugged, before both followed a few paces behind.

The Avengers were assembling for dinner.

Saving the world again took back burner tonight.

* * *

_Author's Note__: Don't you just love happy endings? Lol! What did you guys think about adding that mysterious (or not so mysterious) woman at the end of this story? Good? No? Let me know. :D_

_Now, I know what some of you are thinking: WTH!? There are WAY too many unanswered questions. Well . . . you're right, there are. I could have decided to continue on with this story and answer them, but I chose not to because I felt it would have detracted from the original plot of the story, which was supposed to be only about the Avengers finding out the truth behind Loki's actions._

_There will be an epilogue that will be posted sometime in the next day or so - not very long, but long enough to wrap up this adventure. Don't forget to review! :D_


	20. Epilogue

Epilogue

A desolate realm.

Nothing but empty space and blackness, the occasional distant star sending a few meager shafts of light to pierce the icy chill of rock and dust. Not a breath of wind or sound of life.

A harsh isolation clung to the long stairways and open rock like a thick, oozing mist. Hovels and fortresses carved into the stony network of stairs and shattered hovering rock spoke of a vast people dwelling there. But the lights were cold, harsh, seemingly cruel. And still there was no sound from any of its inhabitants.

A whisper of movement finally broke the loud silence, a soft scrape of booted feet on rock. A lone figure slowly climbed its way to the very pinnacle of that strange, disjointed realm. Cowled and shrouded in its own darkness, the creature knelt before a towering throne, the cold gleam of stars feebly giving light to cold metal armor and glowing violet eyes.

There was a pause, and the prostrated figure spoke.

"_Humansss . ._ ."

The single word was hissed in distain, and though not spoken in more than a whisper, roared through the cold empty air like a trumpet blast. The speaker's head twitched slightly, as if utterly repulsed. With a brief gnash of sharp, bloodied teeth, it continued.

"They are not the _cowering wretches_ they promised. They stand; they are unruly and therefore cannot be ruled."

The seated figure suddenly rose to his feet, towering to an inhuman height, his posture screaming rage and disgust in palpable waves. His kneeling slave ducked his head down further, his submission all the more evident.

"**What of the traitor?**" A deep voice – as deep as the endless blackness of his domain – echoed in the darkness.

"He lives. He thinks himself safe from you - from us. Asgard has hidden him away within its depths, beyond your reach."

The towering Titan slowly turned to face the Other, still kneeling on the barren rock. A wicked smile was dancing on his disfigured face.

"**Nowhere is beyond my reach**."

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

_Author's Note__: It pains me to say it, but yes, it seems we've reached the end of this little adventure. BUT, I have heard your requests and read your reviews and have decided that...yes, I WILL write a sequel! It will probably be a while, though. I'm currently collaborating with another author to finish one of our epic Post-Avengers stories called Asgard's Twilight. If you like drama and angst and h/c and all the good stuff you've read here, please go check out Asgard's Twilight and leave some reviews for me! The chapters are pretty long, but they are anything but dull! _

_Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with this story from the beginning, and for all your reviews and encouragements! This has been by far the most popular work I've posted on this website...and it was wonderful to see your enthusiasm! You guys are all awesome!_


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